Rampaging Riddle
by Sk8er Chica
Summary: Serena Riddle, a half Indian exbarmaid, works for John Tunstall and later rides with the Lincoln County Regulators. Better than it sounds. Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1: Warm Springs, Tunstall Murphy

DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING.

A/N: Since I've run out of ideas for my first _Young Guns _story "Culture Shock," I decided to post this story that's been brewing in my head for a while. This one tells the tale of events before, during, and after the Lincoln County War through the eyes of Serena Riddle. As always, reviews and constructive criticism are appreciated.

* * *

My name is Serena Marisol Riddle, and this is my story. I was born on March 7th, 1859, the daughter of a white settler and an Apache medicine man. My mother wasn't the maternal sort to say the least. She disappeared from my life when I was around two, leaving my father to raise me. I have no memories of my mother whatsoever. 

My father, Black Fox, was heartbroken when my mother abandoned us and vowed never to have any more children. So I became both daughter and son to him. I learned tasks delegated to females, such as sewing and cooking, but Father also taught me tribal medicine, how to hunt, and most importantly, how to defend myself. I taught myself English by reading some books my mother left behind, which certainly didn't make me popular with the other children who lived at the Warm Springs reservation.  
Sometimes, I was ostracized because I looked different, having inherited my mother's blue eyes and blond hair. I never let it upset me.  
I knew my father loved me no what matter, and I preferred my own company anyway.

From an early age, I had a special connection with animals, especially with horses. Somehow I knew instinctively how to communicate with them, how to teach them obey without scaring or hurting them. Stallions somehow became less agressive around me, and mares allowed their newborn foals to romp with me.

I grew up with few luxuries and only the barest of necessities, but I was perfectly happy.  
-----  
About a month before my fifteenth birthday, Father heard a band of white settlers were planning an attack on Warm Springs. They'd already done what they pleased with women from other tribes, so Father was naturally concerned for my safety. He begged me to leave. I by no means wanted to, but knew better than to argue with my extremely stubborn father.

I didn't know if I would ever see my friends and family again, so it was with a heavy heart that I mounted the blue roan stallion I had tamed myself. There were tears in Father's eyes as he handed me his hunting knife and medicine pouch. I nudged Storm Cloud's sides with my heels and the two of us galloped away.

I zigged, zagged, and doubled back on myself all over the trails near the reservation. The last thing I wanted was to lead the attackers to my family at Warm Springs. I rode until past dark, trying to find the safest possible place to camp. I hoped to find somewhere with plenty of brush, but I wasn't that lucky. I felt very exposed in the open prairie; Storm Cloud, sensing this, kept vigil over me as I slept.

I soon arrived in a little town called Lincoln. As much as it pained me to do so, I took a job in Murphy's Saloon. It was the only way I could support myself other than crime. I worked as a barmaid, until the day someone overheard me singing. Apparently, I had good voice, because I was promoted to evening entertainment, a drunken pianist as my only accompaniment.  
I didn't know very many songs, but customers poured in from miles around to hear "Ravishing Riddle." Not only did I make very good money, my promotion also provided me with a wardrobe of fine dresses and a luxury boudoir upstairs. Customers were never allowed in my room; Murphy wanted to "protect his investment."

After a few months went by, I was approached by a well-groomed man who introduced himself as John Tunstall. He told me he was in need of help on his ranch, which I thought was odd. Why come to me? I found out later that customers were growing bored of my singing and more interested in my body. Murphy was planning to force me into becoming a whore, so I guess you could say John rescued me.

It took only two trips upstairs to collect everything I owned, then I was out the door.

"Do you have any particular skills, other than your lovely voice?" John asked pleasantly.

Blushing at the compliment, I said, "I'm good with horses. Riding, tacking, breaking, I can do it all. And I can cook well enough. Haven't made anyone sick yet. I read and write, know a bit about medicine. But there's nothing special about me, really."

"I believe there is, Miss Riddle." John said with a smile.

I swung myself onto Storm Cloud and followed John to his ranch outside of town. John carried my belongings into the simple whitewashed adobe house and led me to a back bedroom. White linen curtains were open to admit sunlight, which danced over the highly polished oak dresser, nightstand, and writing desk. The featherbed also had an oak frame and was covered with a colorful patchwork quilt.

"This cozy little space will be your room," John said. "I hope you find it to your liking." He put down my things and started to leave. "If there is anything at all you need, please don't hesitate to ask me."

After I unpacked, I explored the ranch property until John called me in for dinner. Most men (besides my father) are terrible cooks if left to manage on their own; John Tunstall was the exception to that rule. After supper, John asked me to read aloud a few articles from the local newspaper _The Independent_. Tired from my long day, I went straight to bed afterwards.

John was a bit reluctant to allow me to go on the cattle drive the next morning, but I persisted. He relented, saying there was a spare saddle in the barn I could use. Lifting the thing was a chore; Storm Cloud shied from it, then reared onto his hind legs when I cinched the girth around his belly. It took nearly an hour to get the saddle completely on him.

I'd only ever ridden horses bareback, so all the bouncing around when I trotted and cantered left me aching. Clearly, Storm and I both had a lot to get used to.

Over the next several weeks, I evolved into a jack-of-all-trades, able to do even backbreaking work. John admired my tenacity and strength; he loved me like I was his own daughter. I liked John fine, but he was still no replacement for my father. I missed him terribly and constantly worried if he was even alive.  
------  
Later in the year, a young man named Richard Brewer stopped by the ranch. He was just passing through, he said, and wondered if we'd be kind enough to give him something to eat so he could keep going on his way. He'd moved out west from Vermont and was looking for work. John, in his charmingly persuasive manner, convinced him to stay.  
The next night, Josiah Scurlock, who preferred to be called Doc (as would I if my first name were Josiah), joined us.

This is when John Tunstall's reputation as a philanthropist began. He never turned down anyone who needed a job or a place to stay for a night, no matter how wrong the fellow seemed to have gone. Over the next year, our number expanded to include a brawler named Charley Bowdre ("pugilist," John called him) and a bank robber/petty thief named Steve Stephens (also known as Dirty Steve).


	2. Chapter 2: Jose Chavez

Through it all, I prided myself on remaining objective, never developing anything resembling romantic feelings towards any of the men John took in. Everything changed on January 6th, 1876.

I was doing mundane household chores when John came home from town, bringing with him a dark-skinned boy about my age.Tangled black hair flowed almost to his shoulders, an eagle feather tied in it. My respect for John doubled; not many people would take in Indians. It was true that I was half-Indian and had been living with John for two years, but being willing to house more than one Indian was just unheard of.

"I met this fine young man in town this morning," said John. "As we're short of help to take the cattle to winter grazing, I offered him work."

I felt a tug on my heartstrings as I looked closer at the boy. He was shivering violently and he was much too thin.

John took me aside and explained the boy's story. He was from the Navajo reservation, Red Sand Creek. Murphy and Company had purposely sent rotten meat to the tribe. The boy rounded up a few friends to trade in town for food, but the townspeople shot his friends. When he returned home, he found his entire family murdered in the snow.

I was shaking with suppressed rage by the time John finished his story. John added that he'd caught the boy just as the boy was preparing to stab Murphy in the heart. I certainly didn't blame him; in fact, I wished he'd succeeded.

John said, "The boy is in your charge. Take care of him," before disappearing to his study.

I turned to the boy with a kind smile on my face. "My name is Serena Riddle. What's yours?"

"J-J-Jose Chavez _y_ Chavez," he stammered through chattering teeth.

"_Encantado_, Jose," I said, stoking up the fire.

I excused myself to put on a pot of chamomile tea. While it brewed, I went in the living room to sit with Jose. I looked out the window and admired the piebald war pony drinking from the trough.

"That's a beautiful horse," I said. "What's her name?"

"Sparks. Sparks Flying." Jose replied.

After a time sitting in total silence, the teapot began to whistle. I went in the kitchen to take it off the heat. I poured a bit into two mugs and collected two apples from the fruit bowl. John ordinarily had a strict rule about not snacking between meals, but since this boy obviously hadn't eaten in quite a while, I supposed that rule wouldn't apply to him.

Jose suspiciously sniffed the mug I handed to him. I supposed he'd learned to treat anything a white person offered him with extreme caution. He somehow managed to drink all the scalding tea in one gulp. Not more than ten minutes went by before he passed out on the sofa. I tucked a blanket around him so he would stay warm. Unable to stop myself, I tenderly ran my fingers through his hair.

I spent the next few hours in the process of cooking supper. I worried the noise the heavy dishes made as I set them on the table would wake Jose, but he slept on. Suddenly, the front door banged open. Jose woke with a start, holding a large knife before him.

Dick, Doc, Steve, and Charley stepped inside, carrying a large pile of firewood. Their heads turned as one toward Jose.

"What's that breed doing here?" asked Dick, eyeing Jose with distaste.

"He ain't a breed. He's a greaser," argued Charley.

"He could be a greaser _and _a breed," Doc reasoned.

"I hate greasers." grumbled Steve. "And I hate breeds worse."

I could hardly believe the stupidity on the part of the boys. They were insulting Indians when they knew damn well my father had been Apache.

'_Had been?_' I thought. '_Why did I think that? For all I know, my father is still alive and well._'

Shaking myself out of my musings, I sternly reprimanded them for talking that way, brandishing my rolling pin for effect. Then I turned around and said sweetly, "It's gettin' near to suppertime, Jose. Would you care to join us at the table?" He shook his head slightly. "Are you sure?" I inquired. "You look like you're hungry."

"You no can trick me into eat poisoned food," Jose said firmly.

Steve started to laugh his irritating donkey-like laugh. I glared at him. "Just laugh it up, jackass," I muttered under my breath.

"Did you just call me a jackass?" Steve snapped. When I didn't answer, he got in my face, so close I could smell the tobacco he was chewing. He grabbed my upper arm and repeated himself. "Did you call me a jackass!"

"Take your hand off me," I said in a warning voice.

"You called me a jackass!" he yelled. "My ma's the only one can call me a jackass!"

"Nice family you got," I said coolly. "I'll ask you again: Let go of me."

Steve refused to let go. Before I could take a swing at him, someone else punched him in the jaw, sending Steve sprawling on the sofa. It was Jose. His brown eyes were blazing with fury.

"Leave the lady alone, _pendejo_," he said.

"What the hell did you call me!" spat Steve.

"Dear me, what seems to be the matter?" said a deadly calm voice. It was John.

"Serena called me a jackass, Mr. Tunstall," whined Steve.

"Serena, we've been over this before," John said lightly. "A gentlewoman should never stain her lips with cursing." He looked at the clock and rubbed his hands together. "I believe it's time for you chaps to wash up for supper."

For the first time in my memory, we skipped the saying of Grace and started to eat right away. Jose hardly touched his plate, which worried me a bit. I reassured myself he would come around eventually.  
--------  
Jose, who after a while asked to be called by his surname, spent much of the next few weeks with me. It was my responsibility to teach him to speak better English so that he could participate in the nightly newspaper readings. While Chavez struggled to master his lessons, the two of us communicated using a bastard mix of Spanish, our native tongues, and sign language.

We became very close during that time. Even once he no longer needed tutoring, Chavez remained my constant companion. I was one of the few people with whom he was really comfortable. Chavez was always there when I needed help or just someone to talk to; he also saw it as his job to protect me. The feeling that comes from having a truly outstanding friend was new to me, but I liked it.


	3. Chapter 3: William H Bonney

_Two years later..._

December 28th, 1877.

I stood in the kitchen, rolling out a pie crust for supper. So far, the day had been uneventful. I was just about to fill the pie when I heard angry voices through the wall. It sounded like Chavez and Dirty Steve were arguing. So much for peace and quiet...

I got outside to find Chavez waving his knife at Dirty Steve, who was yelling, "You do it with your horse, greaser!"

I'd started to try and break up the fight when Dick rode up, keeping his horse squarely between them. He told Chavez to knock it off; he knew better. We all heard the clatter of approaching wagon wheels; John was back from town. I noticed a small man riding in the back of the wagon, dressed totally in black. He was fairly young and not bad look at. I pegged him as another of John's charity cases.

"Wash up and put on your supper clothes," Dick instructed. Dirty Steve and Chavez didn't move. "NOW!" Dick bellowed.

Chavez reluctantly put his knife away and walked toward the well. I followed to try calming him down. Once I was fairly sure he wouldn't stab the next person to look at him wrong, I returned the kitchen to make supper. I watched amusedly through the window as the new boy got clotheslined by the hog he'd been trying to feed.

"SON OF A BITCH!" he howled.

Charley snickered and came close to roping the boy with his lasso, which hit the fencepost as the last minute. They talked for a while, then Dick hauled Charley away, leaving the new kid all by his lonesome in the pigpen.

I didn't seem him or any of the other boys until suppertime. By now, the new boy had swapped his black shirt for a white undershirt. John raised an eyebrow, probably thinking it was inappropriate attire, but he didn't say anything.

"I hope this fella can cook," said the boy, indicating me. "I'm mighty hungry."

That burned me. "_I _am a _woman, _thank you very much," I said coldly.

The kid grinned. "Apologies. I just never seen a woman wearin' trousers before." He turned to John. "May I make the acquaintance of the young dewdrop?"

"Of course you may," said John.

"I'm William H. Bonney, ma'am," said the boy, offering his hand. "Call me Billy."

"Serena M. Riddle," I said, shaking his hand.

We seated ourselves around the table. Dick said grace as usual, then we started to eat. My eyes flicked to Billy, who was digging in like he hadn't seen food since the Lincoln administration.

"While it's nice to see a man with a healthy appetite, I'm afraid that's not proper table manners," John said lightly.

"What can you expect from Hog Boy?" piped up Charley, making a few hideous snorting noises.

Dirty Steve joined in, which caused John to sentence the pair of them to dish duty. Billy told us how he'd worked at Pete Maxwell's ranch and bragged that he'd killed a man in town for hacking on him. Dirty Steve and Charley exchanged a worried look at this; Billy just smirked.

After supper, we gathered around the fireplace for our nightly newspaper reading. Of all us, Dirty Steve was the one on whom John's attempts at education had failed most miserably. He still couldn't even pronounce the word "succeed," for heaven's sake. Once Dirty Steve had stumbled his way through a paragraph, John called on Billy to read.

"Yeah, sure," Billy said with an eyeroll. I wondered if maybe he was embarrassed because he couldn't read.

"William, we're _all _learning to read and write." John said lightly. "Take up the paper and start where Stephen left off, or you can go straight back to your home on the streets."

I could almost see the gears turning underneath Billy's feathery blond hair. He wasn't allowed to work cattle yet, he had the unflattering nickname of Hog Boy, and we'd already fed him dinner, so what reason did he have to stay? I suppose he decided living here was better than being hanged by a lynch mob, because he picked up the paper and started to read. It surprised me how practiced he sounded.

John smiled his I-knew-you-could-do-it smile. "Splendid reading, William." he said, patting Billy on the head.

I stood up to walk to my room, bidding good night to the boys.

"Sweet dreams, Miss 'Rena," Billy said in a clumsily suggestive voice.

Though there didn't seem to be an particular harm in him, I reminded myself to deadbolt my bedroom door that night. You can never be too careful when you're the only woman in a house full of young men.  
-------  
The next morning, L.G. Murphy, Sheriff Brady, and his posse paid a visit to the ranch. Sheriff Brady accused John of plundering Murphy's merchandise wagon.

"That's a fargin' lie!" said Dick. "John would never steal from anyone."

"Look behind you, Earl," Murphy said to John. "All I see are hired thieves...and a loose woman."

I tried to remain composed, but Murphy had really touched a nerve with that comment. My hands curled into fists.

"Do you know how much money Sheriff Brady's invested in my store?" Murphy asked. He and John were bidding for the same beef contract. "His life savings. And I'm backed by the Chief Justice, the U.S. District Attorney, the Territorial District Attorney, and the Santa Fe Ring."

"I made a long journey here from London, so I'll be damned if I'm going to be dissuaded by something as ugly as political corruption," John replied calmly. "Take your threats and sheriff and get off my property."

"This is a new country. We won't bow to Englishman no more." said Murphy, mounting his horse. "Get ready for hell."

Murphy rode off, taking the sheriff and posse with him.John watched them go, then told us to get back to work. I silently worried as I got back to my chores. This trouble between John and Murphy had been building for some time; I was concerned that John's life could be in danger. Murphy was well-known for being vicious, physically and verbally; he was also well-connected. I could only pray for John's safety.


	4. Chapter 4: New Year's Eve

New Year's Eve, 1877 

I smoothed out the skirt of my favorite dress as I stood in front of my bedroom mirror. Black and purple, cut off at the shoulder...I always felt like the most beautiful woman in the world when I wore it. John disliked it because it was something I wore when I performed at saloons. He said it was too revealing.  
My hair was misbehaving, not staying in any sort of bun, so I'd tied part of it back with a length of black silk ribbon.

I was about to spritz on some lilac perfume when I heard a barrage of gunshots coming from outside. Without hesitation, I grabbed my pistol and headed to the yard. The shots seemed to be coming from somewhere overhead. I whipped around. There was Billy, sitting cross-legged on the bunkhouse roof with a pistol in each hand, laughing like a hyena. I could have strangled him!

"Regulators!" shouted John as he ran out the back door. "Let's dance." Glancing upward, he added, "Please come down from the roof, William. But be careful how you do it. You wouldn't want the town girls to see you in a ripped suit."

Billy stood up and jumped from the roof, landing on all fours like a cat. He wiggled his eyebrows a few times as he looked over my dress, then bent to kiss my hand. He said I looked as beautiful as a flower blossom.

"Which of you gentlemen would like to accompany Miss Riddle to the party?" asked John.

"I do!" shouted Charley, waving his hand in the air.

"No, I will," said Billy, shoving Charley.

"I'd sure like to dance with that piece of calico," said McCloskey, leering at my chest. McCloskey arrived yesterday. John seems to think he's all right, but there's something about him I don't trust.

John held up his palm for silence as the squabble threatened to get violent. "I think we should let the lady decide."

I paced through the yard, looking over each of the boys, all of whom were wearing new (or at least clean) clothes. My eyes landed on Chavez, looking very handsome with his hair in a ponytail.

"I'm taking Chavez," I said.

"Me?" Chavez pointed to himself, looking a little confused.

"HIM!" the other boys howled.

"The lady has spoken," John declared as he climbed in the wagon.

With a boost from Chavez, I mounted Storm Cloud, riding astride instead of sidesaddle. Propriety be damned; it's a pain in the ass to control a horse from that position. The boys and I left the ranch, following John and the wagon.

Once at the party, we all went our seperate ways. Billy quickly struck up a conversation with the prettiest town girl in attendance. Steve,  
Charley, and McCloskey wanted to drink. John talked to his lawyer friend Alex McSween and Susan, Alex's wife. I love dancing, so I pulled Chavez toward the dance floor.

"I don't dance very well," he said uncomfortably.

"All you need is a little practice," I said.

We found a place among the other couples, where I taught Chavez a basic two-step. I spotted Billy with the town girl. Billy was dancing like a maniac, flapping his arms like a chicken and jumping about as though there were hot coals beneath his feet. After the fast song ended, the band struck up a slower tune. Unfortunately, Chavez wasn't much of a waltzer and kept treading on my feet.

The Regulators managed to get through three-quarters of the evening before we ran into any trouble. Charley saw a fella named El Loco shove John when John got in his way. Then El Loco challenged Charley to a fight. El Loco took some heavy blows to his head, then Charley pushed him into a card table. Poker chips flew everywhere as El Loco crashed to the ground, inches away from the bonfire near the dance floor. And Charley? Not a single scratch on him; he wasn't even out of breath!

"Happy New Year!" shouted the band leader suddenly.

Men drew their guns and fired rounds into the air; firecrackers were set off under our feet. Horses all over the block were scared witless. John checked his pocketwatch.

"Gentlemen, m'lady, I think we shall call this evening. Let's go home."

As we rode across a prairie, the boys struck up a drunken, off-key rendition of "Auld Lang Syne." We were laughing at nothing in particular, just savoring the fun we'd had at the dance. Suddenly, a turkey darted in front of us.

"Breakfast!" Charley yelled.

The chase was on. We dug on heels into our horses, guns at the ready. Billy hung back with John, but John must have told him to join us, because two seconds later I heard the hooves of Billy's palamino colt pounding behind me. Out of nowhere, a posse appeared on the ridge. I tried to call out a warning to John, but the posse emptied their shotguns into his body before I got the words out. John crumpled to the ground, dead. So did the carthorse.

"You bastards!" screamed Billy, poising to shoot.

"There's too many of them!" said Doc. "Let's get out of here!"

I tried to turn Storm Cloud, but my hands were shaking too badly. Chavez, noticing my difficulties, borrowed a lasso from Charley, which he used to tie his saddlehorn to mine. I wanted to vomit, but knew I couldn't in front of the boys; not after how much I'd bragged about having a strong stomach.

I was numb with disbelief. The man who'd become my second father was dead. Silent tears streamed down my face.

Whoever murdered John would have hell to pay...


	5. Chapter 5: Deputized, Henry Hill

I don't have very clear memories of the days following John's murder. All I remember is that there wasn't a dry eye at his funeral, even Chavez was in tears. Afterwards, I hid in my bedroom at the ranch with some of John's old books, trying to keep a grip on myself. I thought that if I had a chance to square his death, I'd do whatever it took. 

Then Billy appeared, leaning in the doorway. "J.P. Wilson is gonna deputize us in the morning." he said. "Then we're goin' after the men who killed John. Now, Dick says you ain't to have no part of this. I say different. If you wanna ride with us, just go right on ahead; I won't stop you."

"I'll do it," I said.

"But there's just one thing. There ain't that many blue horses around, so you'd have to trade yours in."

"I can't do that. You know how much Storm Cloud means to me." I said. "Hey, just out of curiousity, are you askin' Chavez to sell Sparks?"

Billy arched an eyebrow. "You think I got a death wish?"

"And you sure as hell ain't partin' with Golden Boy," I said. (Golden Boy was Billy's palamino paint colt). "So Storm Cloud stays."

"You'll be a sitting duck," Billy warned. "Everyone knows who that horse belongs to."

"I'll take my chances," I said.

"Fine," Billy relented. "Meet us at the livery stables by dawn. Bring only what's important to you."

I couldn't sleep that night, so I spent it packing for the journey. My mother's books, my father's hunting knife and medicine pouch, an ample supply of bullets, an extra shirt, and some simple provisions. Not much, but too much weight might slow Storm Cloud down.  
I changed clothes so I would be indistinguishable from the men and strapped on my six-shooter. I wasn't good with a gun, but I knew I'd need one. I took a last look at the ranch before I rode off to Lincoln.

The boys and J.P. Wilson were late, as usual, so I had to wait for them. The sun had almost fully risen by the time I saw the Regulators'  
horses approaching, Dick in the lead. Billy grinned as he dismounted.

"Glad to see ya made it, 'Rena," he said.

Dick turned, his brown eyes blazing. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "I told you to stay home."

"I never listen to you," I said.

"Yeah, well, this time you should have." said Dick. "This isn't your fight. Seeking revenge is man's work."

"And last time we checked, you ain't a man," piped up Dirty Steve.

I glanced at Billy, who was smirking as he watched us. "Why don't you ask Billy what I'm doing here?" I said.

That wiped the smirk off his face quick. He was, after all, the one who'd decided to undermine Dick's authority as foreman. We were saved from an ugly scene by the arrival of J.P. Wilson. The mood became solemn. Inside the livery stables, we all piled our right hands on top of J.P.'s bible and swore the oath of office. Then J.P. pinned the tin stars to our coats and we left to serve our first warrant.

"We're gonna ar-rest Henry Hill, doodah, doodah," Billy sang as we rode through the prairie. "We're gonna ar-rest Henry Hill, oh doodah day..."

Dick rolled his eyes at Billy's childish behavior, but Charley and I thought the song was catchy and joined in. We kept singing until we reached an out-of-the-way saloon, which looked like it had been constructed with too many boards and not enough nails. Clearly, it wasn't a place where you'd find too many upstanding citizens.

"Henry Hill's been inside with a lady since noon," said Dick. "We'll show him the warrant and take him home. Hey, Billy, see if Hill's inside. If he is, bring him out."

Trusting Billy with our prisoner turned out to be a mistake. Less than five minutes later, we heard a shot coming from the direction of the outhouse, and Billy ran out so fast you'd have thought he was on fire.

"You weren't supposed to kill anybody!" Dick howled. "We have warrants; we're the law!"

Several men burst out of the saloon, shooting at us. We fired back until they were all on the ground, then we took off. Nothing much was said between us that day until late that night. We were starting to bed down when Dick asked why the hell Billy had shot Henry Hill.

"He resisted arrest by a sworn deputy of the law," said Billy. "I was in fear for my life, Dick. Shit, even lawmen can shoot if their life is in danger."

How much of that was true, I'll never know.

Charley, shaking like a leaf, spoke up next. "What's gonna happen to us now?"

I sighed. "I really don't know. But whatever it is, I guaran-damn-tee ya it's not gonna be good."

Things didn't improve the following day. Doc went into town to buy a newspaper, and the paper contained an article about the murder of Henry Hill. A miner had identified one of the shooters as William H. Bonney. Not good. Someone knew Billy's real name. The article went on to say that Billy was captain of our gang.

"You send a lamb to the slaughter and he walks out a king sheep," laughed Charley.

This pissed Dick off to no end.

"You're mentioned too," Doc said to me.

"I am?" I said, dazed.

"'Much of the slaying not performed by the kid, Billy, was achieved by a young woman." Doc read. "'A patron has identified the woman as one Serena Riddle, an ex-employee of L.G. Murphy. The voluptuous ex-prostitute--"

"What?" I shrieked.

Doc ignored me and continued reading. "'The voluptuous ex-prostitute severely wounded many of Hill's partisans. Perhaps it is time to change her name from 'Ravishing' to 'Rampaging' Riddle. Riddle is believed to be the sweetheart of someone in the gang, perhaps even The Kid himself.'"

Please. I was no one's sweetheart, and most certainly not Billy's. I was never a prostitute either. But as for my new nickname? Rampaging Riddle has a lovely ring to it...


	6. Chapter 6: Morton and Baker, Peyote

It was a day or two before anyone from Murphy's side finally tracked us down. The ones who did were a pair of geniuses named Morton and Baker. Morton was picking through horse dung with his bare hands when Chavez crept out of the bushes. He held his knife to Morton's throat while the rest of us rode out from our hiding places, guns cocked.

"_Buenos dias, _shitheads," said Dick.

"You killed Henry Hill and started a war," said Morton.

"Y'all started the damn war when you killed Tunstall," Dick argued.

"There's still fifty or sixty men against your seven, not counting the girl," said Morton. "You won't win this." Pretty ballsy words for a guy being held at knifepoint.

"We're gonna bury you," said Billy.

"Quiet, Bonney!" Dick snapped. "The law don't talk like that."

"The law don't kill innocent merchants either," Steve pointed out.

"'Rena, take these sons of bitches to Capitan Mountain and gut 'em," said Billy, shoving Baker toward me.

"With pleasure," I said, my voice sweet.

McCloskey voiced the opinion that we shouldn't go toward Capitan because of Murphy watching the trail. He thought going straight to Lincoln was a good plan. There was something about his voice that didn't sound right. Billy noticed it too. He advanced on McCloskey, who grew nervous and backed away.

"You're trying to steer us toward Lincoln because you know Murphy's men are waiting for us there," Billy said angrily.

"McCloskey doesn't ride with Murphy anymore. He's a Regulator," said Dick.

"He's a spy!" Billy yelled.

McCloskey put on a hurt face and offered his hand to Billy, awaiting an apology. Billy shook his hand, though he avoided looking at McCloskey. Billy put a hand inside his coat, where he'd hidden his pistol, and drew it. He shot McCloskey once in the head, spattering poor Doc with his blood.

"Jesus!" screeched Charley.

Billy shot McCloskey in the gut; his body dropped into the river. Then Chavez threw his knife at Baker, who was trying to make an escape. A gun battle between our side and Morton ensued. Dick screamed at everyone to hold their fire, but he was drowned out by Dirty Steve's yells of encouragement. Morton, crippled by the bullet I'd put in his knee, tried to run. A blast from Dirty Steve, and Morton was dead.

"Court adjourned," Billy grinned.

"I always knew there was something off about McCloskey," I said.

"Oh God, Brady's gonna hang us for sure now," moaned Charley.

"What's our next move?" Billy asked.

"Everybody close their lips for a goddamn second and let me think!" shouted Dick. After a moment's thought, he said, "Everybody skin up the river." Then Dick rounded on Billy. "You ain't a captain and you sure as hell aren't Robin Hood. And, Serena, you're no Joan of Arc."

"Whatever you say," Billy and I said together.

"Doc, get these idiots on their horses," Dick instructed.

I strongly resented being called an idiot, but I didn't say anything. I didn't follow the boys up the river either. I stayed back and made a false trail for Murphy's boys. It took probably a few hours until I was satisfied that it looked authentic enough to deceive them. Then I rode back to the river, where McCloskey's body was still tangled in a tree branch. I thought briefly of giving him a proper burial. McCloskey's turning out to be a traitor prevented me from doing so; the buzzards could get him for all I cared.

I followed the tracks on the river's edge for another two hours or so, then I caught sight of smoke on the horizon. I found the boys had already set up camp. Doc was reading the newspaper, probably another article about the exploits of Billy the Kid and Rampaging Riddle. Dick was cooking bacon over the campfire. I took my bedroll off my saddle and spread it out, facing it east so I wouldn't be cold in the morning.

Doc and Dick went to talk quietly, probably about what the hell we would do now. It seemed that John Kinney the notorious bounty hunter was after us. I had little knowledge of him, but what I did know wasn't good. Chavez, off in his own world as usual, was crouched on the ground, digging some roots up out of the snow.

"What the hell is he doin'?" Dick wondered.

We found out late that night when we all gathered around the fire. Chavez had mixed up some war paint; his face was now black and white, like a skull. The way it looked in the dark scared me some.

"We've come to a point where we're lost." Chavez declared. "When Indians are lost, we reach into the spirit world to find a way." I knew in a second where this was going. Chavez took a long drink of peyote from a tin cup. "This is the way to the spirit road."

Dirty Steve rolled his eyes. "All we need is some more of your Nah-vah-ho mambo jahambo."

One by one, everyone except Dick drank from the cup. Within an hour, the effects of the drug took hold. Chavez and I had taken peyote before during tribal rituals, so we were the closest thing to sober in the group. The others acted very silly. Doc sat in the weeds, mumbling to himself about butterflies and Murphy's China doll. Dirty Steve blasted away at nothing with his shotgun, all the while screaming, "DID YOU SEE THE SIZE OF THAT CHICKEN?"

"This is great..." said Charley dazedly, who looked like he were petting an invisible horse.

Chavez called for us to saddle up. Dirty Steve screamed like someone had poked him with a cattle prod, but eventually joined us. Billy, who'd arranged a rather ugly wreath of thistles around his hat, mounted Golden Boy and ended up facing the wrong way.  
We rode through an Indian village behind Chavez. Charley was singing a square-dance song at the top of his voice, not a care in world. Billy offered greetings to the locals, riding backwards in the saddle. He slipped every once in a while, damn near falling on his fool head.

"Chavez, how come they ain't killin' us?" asked Charley.

"We're in the spirit world, asshole. They don't see us," Dirty Steve announced gleefully.

Once the high had worn off, the boys passed out. They woke up ash-faced and feeling sick, vowing they'd never do it again.


	7. Chapter 7: Shootout at Blazer's Mill

Shortly after the peyote fiasco, we reached a little town called Blazer's Mill. Chavez and I got off our horses to refill our canteens in a well. I washed off my face and hands as best I could, then filled my canteen.

"So how are you holding up?" Chavez asked me.

"I'm fine." I shrugged, drying my face on my bandanna.

"You don't look very well," said Chavez.

"I'm just a little tired," I said.

"I'm still worried about you," he said.

"How are you doing?" I asked. He'd been a lot quieter than usual for days, which told me something was bothering him.

Chavez didn't answer; another sign that he was upset. I was about to ask him what was wrong when Billy, Dick, Doc, Dirty Steve, and Charley approached us. They seemed exhausted; even Billy looked like a whipped pup. Dick tossed a glance at the adobe building behind us, which (judging by the smell coming out of it) was a cantina.

"Richard, can we please go inside?" asked Doc.

"No," Dick said firmly. "Look, I know we could use a decent meal, but we got everybody in the territory looking for us. It'd be too risky."

"Ain't nobody else here," said Charley, pointing to the vacant hitching post beside the cantina.

"Besides, if I know Murphy's jackasses the way I think I do, they'll be halfway to Old Mexico before they realize they're ridin' a false trail," I pointed out.

"So that's where the hell you disappeared to yesterday," said Dick. "What were you thinking, Serena? Making a move like that is suicidal. You ain't got the sense God gave a mule."

Chavez went for his knife handle. "Don't talk about her that way. Going off on her own may have been dangerous, but she'll never do it again." He turned to me. "Will you?"

I shook my head, saying I learned my lesson. Dick replied that he still wasn't going to let me out of his sight.

"Can't we just talk this out over supper?" said Doc, who hadn't shut up for a long time about how hungry he was.

Dick relented and ordered us all to wash up. It was decided that Dirty Steve would eat outside so he could keep a lookout. We seated ourselves around the tiny table in the cantina, where the special of the day was chicken. I chuckled, remembering Dirty Steve's peyote vision. Dick bowed his head and began to say grace.

"Lord, forgive us for our trespasses, our misguidance by heathen religions." He eyed Chavez, who proceeded to kick Dick under the table. Dick didn't seem to notice and continued the prayer. "Please help guide us in doin' the right thing."

Billy, thinking the prayer was over, eagerly picked up his fork, but Dick kept praying. Billy dropped his fork and glanced longingly at the chicken. "Please, Dick, it's gettin' cold," he begged.

Dick didn't look up, so Billy went for his gun. Dick snapped out of his trance and drew his. In a flash, both were pointing their weapons at the other's heart. Chavez reached between them and started to carve the chicken. He speared a very large piece with the tip of his knife and fed it to me.

"I coulda killed ya, Dick." said Billy, holding his gun steady. "But I'm too hungry to kill you; I wanna eat."

"When we finish this meal, we'll step out in the yard and _see _who has the right to run this group of regulators," Dick said fiercely.

"Will you two quit bickering?" I asked wearily.

Dirty Steve burst in, saying there was someone headed our way. The visitor turned out to be Buckshot Roberts, a bounty hunter who, in Charley's words "killed more people than smallpox." Billy was eager to fight him, but cursed Buckshot's timing.

We went outside. Roberts looked for all the world like a harmless old man. But we all knew better. Dick tried to talk Roberts into giving himself up, seeing as we had a warrant for him. But Roberts intended to collect the bounty placed on our heads.

"Let's dance," he said, pumping his shotgun.

We ran like hell toward the woodpile. Someone screamed behind us. It was Chavez. Damn, it was personal now. Nobody shoots a friend of mine and gets away with it. I fired toward Roberts; a bullet pierced my arm. I went down, falling between Chavez and Doc, who'd been shot in the hand. Chavez had been hit in the leg, but he seemed okay.

"You missed, you little sons of bitches and dancehall whore!" Roberts taunted us.

"Billy, go in the outhouse and cut Roberts in half," said Dick. Billy looked disbelieving that Dick actually wanted him to kill someone. "I'm darin' you." Dick added.

Billy would never back down from a dare, so he started to leave. A gunshot was heard, then Billy crawled back behind the woodpile.

"Screw that!" he panted.

Roberts stopped shooting at us, so Dick left to check it out. Gunshots erupted. I was on the ground, so I couldn't see what happened, but I knew what had. Roberts had killed Dick. Charley, the youngest of us, went to pieces.

"What are we gonna do?" he howled. "Dick just got his guts blown out, and he's our foreman."

Doc, with his gift for stating the obvious said, "We better get the hell out of here."

He and I supported Chavez and helped him onto Sparks Flying. Billy took over as foreman, riding ahead of us.


	8. Chapter 8: Camping Out

We rode out of Blazer's Mill and found a somewhat sheltered place to camp. Doc remained on his horse as we all dismounted.

"Where to?" Billy asked.

"Patricio if it looks safe," Doc replied. "I gotta write Dick's mother in Vermont and get some clean wraps for my hand."

"Well, whatever you do, don't go near Lincoln," Billy cautioned.

Doc's eyes widened as he noticed my blood-soaked sleeve for the first time. "Serena, you're hurt."

_No shit, _I thought, but bit back the comment.

"You should come to Patricio with me. You need a doctor."

"What about Chavez?" I asked. "Roberts shot him too."

Doc shook his head. "He ain't my concern."

I scowled and said, "I'll take my chances then."

"Suit yourself," said Doc, urging his horse forward.

"We'll ride into Lincoln when he gets back," Billy decided. "Sheriff Brady is in desperate need of bein' removed from office."

"Dick said we can't touch the sheriff," said Charley.

"Dick ain't around, is he, Charley?" Billy asked.

Chavez argued against going after Brady too. He thought there was a pretty good chance of all of us dying.

"Are you saying that Murphy taking inventory in Tunstall's store means nothing to you?" Billy asked.

"Murphy and his politicians have taken more blood from me than they ever will from you," Chavez replied.

"How do you figure?" Billy challenged.

"The Red Sand Creek reservation." Chavez went on to explain about the rotten meat, being shot at by traders, and the Army murdering his entire family. He was nearly in tears by the time he was finished.

"Murphy starved out your family, but if you wanna run, go ahead," Billy shrugged. "You got no loyalty, Navajo."

"I don't know what your vision told you, but mine told me we're headed for blood. Blood like a river. If I die--and I'm not afraid to--the sacred hoop is broken. I have to go west to make my people live again." He started to get on Sparks Flying. "Charley, Serena, will you come with me?"

Charley stood up. Billy and Dirty Steve looked on silently. "You ain't sayin' much, Dirty Steve," Charley said.

"He ain't got much to say, Charley." said Billy. I had to bite my knuckle to avoid snickering at the truth of that statement. "But Steve understands the meaning of the word 'pals.' If you got a few pals, you got yourself a tribe. We're your family now, Chavez. You'll break _our _sacred hoop if you walk away from us. We gotta stick together, fellas."

Chavez took a few things from his saddle and asked me to follow him. He wanted to take a look at my wound. I pushed up my sleeve, revealing the neat hole in my arm. The bone wasn't broken, which was good. Chavez poured some whiskey over the bullethole; it burned like hell.

"Would you like a drink?" Chavez asked, offering the bottle.

"No," I said. The whiskey smelled foul and it probably tasted even worse. Besides, I preferred to have my wits about me at all times.

"Are you sure?" he pressed, heating the blade of his knife over the campfire. "It'll be painful when I try to dig the bullet out."

"Just do it," I snapped. "I'm not scared."

I took a deep breath as he moved closer and closer with the knife. I yelled when the blade dipped under my skin. The rest of the Regulators looked towards us; I fought to swallow my tears.

"It's all right to cry, _querida,_" Chavez said, his voice soothing.

My heart thudded. He'd just called me "darling!" I sobbed as Chavez jimmied the knife this way and that to dislodge the bullet; blood dripped down my arm. After what felt like an eternity, Chavez was holding the bullet up for me to see. I cleaned it off, thinking of making it into a necklace later. Chavez washed my arm off with water from his canteen; I packed the hole with moss to prevent an infection.

"Thanks," I sniffed.

Chavez tore one of the sleeves off the shirt he was wearing and used to it to bandage my arm. Though the bone wasn't broken, he knotted our bandannas together and fashioned a makeshift sling. He stroked my cheek; I smiled for the first time in ages. Chavez ripped the other sleeve off his shirt and tied it around his leg.

"You're not taking the bullet out?" I asked.

"No. I'll be all right. Are you hungry, _querida_?"

"You bet," I said. We hadn't gotten to eat our meal at Blazer's Mill.

Chavez dug through his saddlebags. There wasn't a hell of a lot left to eat. He said, "Everything left over is yours."

I offered to share the remainder of my provisions with him, but he wouldn't take it. "You need it more than I. Besides, I fight better on an empty stomach anyway."

I finished off the food and leaned against Chavez. He wrapped his strong arms around me and kissed my hair. After a few minutes, I moved over to where Storm Cloud was grazing. I fumbled with the throatlatch of his bridle and slid the bit out of his mouth.

"I wouldn't do that," Billy called to me. "One of these days, the damn horse is gonna take off without you."

"I assure you, he's very well-trained." I said. "If he were to wander, all I'd have to do is whistle and Storm would come straight back to me."

"Whatever you say, 'Rena." I could see he wasn't quite convinced. "How's your arm?"

"Fine. I just need to rest it for a few days."

That night, we all gathered around the fire and listened to Charley read 'The Bird,' one of Doc's poems. "He's been gone an awful long time," said Charley. "I reckon he'll be trying to make a run for it."

"Who? Doc?" Billy grinned and shook his head. "Nah. Doc likes me."

I knew Doc hated Billy, but I didn't say anything. I just lay back down to go to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9: Sheriff Brady, Talk With Alex

"DOC'S BACK!" Billy's yell stabbed me in the head at an ungodly hour of the morning. To someone else, presumably Steve, he gloated, "I told you he'd come back." Then Billy hollered at the rest of us, "Regulators! Let's saddle up!"

Grudgingly, I pushed myself up with my good hand. My injured arm didn't hurt quite so much anymore, so I took off my sling before starting to pack up. I unknotted Chavez's bandanna from mine and handed it back to him.

"No, you can keep that," he said.

I put Storm Cloud's bridle back on and swung myself into the saddle. Billy looked toward me from Golden Boy's back, his blue eyes glittering wickedly. "Sheriff Brady, we're gonna have a lot of fun now." he said.

Once we arrived in Lincoln, Billy went to look for the sheriff while the rest of us concealed ourselves behind buildings or fences. Sheriff Brady and a group of his flunkies strolled down the road, doing their best to look important. Behind them, Billy was merrily skipping along. What was he trying to do? I wondered. Then Billy tossed his hat over the sheriff's head and it landed at Brady's feet.

The hat toss was our cue. I stealthily crawled out from my hiding place, my pistol cocked just in case.

"Top o' the mornin' to ya, girls," Billy adopted an Irish accent as he removed Brady's pistol from its holster.

He shot the sheriff; the deputies were immediately after us. Chavez burst around the corner on Sparks and threw his knife at one of the deputies, hitting him in the throat. Charlie and Steve were holding their own. They ran out of ammo at the same time and quickly fled the scene. Meanwhile, Sheriff Brady reached for his rifle. Billy pinned the weapon under his boot.

"Reap the whirlwind, Sheriff Brady." said Billy, pointing the pistol at Brady's chest. "Reap it."

We left the good sheriff lying on the street with a bullet in his heart. As always after a good battle, Billy was in high spirits. We went into a small shop in the next town and Billy got a tintype of himself taken. When he was through, he persuaded me to have one done as well.  
I stepped in front of the camera and unholstered my six-shooter. I pulled my hat low over my face and raised the pistol.

The next stop for us was the home of John's lawyer friend Alex, whom none of us had seen since John's funeral. We made ourselves comfortable on Alex's porch and Billy presented Alex with the tintypes. Alex ignored the gift.

"You weren't supposed to touch Brady!" he snapped.

"Brady sent the men who killed John. It was a good move for us," said Billy.

"It wasn't."

"Yes, it was!" Billy argued.

"Have you seen _The Independent_? Your all's deputization powers have been revoked. You're now wanted by the legitimate law as well as those outside the law. You're being hunted by troops." Alex paused here for breath. "You were supposed to serve 11 warrants to expose The Ring. Instead you went out and went on the warpath. Now Richard's dead and Susan and I are living like fugitives! And you, young lady," I'd been wondering when my name would pop up. "You have no business risking your life. If the boys have a death wish, so be it, but _you _are a lady--"

I cut Alex off, not wanting to hear any more raving. "I ain't no gussied-up, pie-making female. I've lived hard all my life, and I'm not about to stop 'cause of some tenderfoot lawyer."

"Serena, please," said Doc. "Alex only wants what's best for you."

"I'll decide what's best for me, Doc. Nose out."

Billy added, "They'll let Murphy and his bankers get away with anything. I can't allow that. And you didn't see what they did to John. We did. Like it or not, Alex, 'Rena's one of us." He pulled the tin star off his shirt and tossed it on the ground.

Charley, Steve, Chavez, and I followed suit. Doc seemed reluctant to leave. He talked with Alex for about five minutes, then we all left for another horseback ride of uncertain destination.


	10. Chapter 10: Texas Joe

"So what the hell's the matter with him?" Billy snapped at Dirty Steve.

Charley was paler than usual and nervous as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.

"I don't know." Dirty Steve replied. "He's just bellyaching about somethin' or another. Doc was readin' to us from the paper and he got mighty spooked."

"Ah, damn it," Billy muttered. Charley had frequently gone to pieces during our journey; it was probable he was losing his nerve and wanted to run.

"Steven told Charley about the party Sheriff Peppin is planning in our honor," Doc explained, joining us.

Billy frowned as though he were trying to remember something. "Party...?" His face suddenly lit up. "Oh, you must mean the hangin'."

"_Callate, chivato,_" Chavez warned.

"You ever seen a man hanged?" asked Charley.

"I seen Red Smitty hang. His head came clean off." Billy chuckled. "It was a hell of a sight."

I glared at him. He was not helping matters.

"I don't think Charley wants to hear about Red Smitty. I think he'd prefer to hear that we're not going to hang." said Doc.

"Well, if we get caught, we will hang," said Billy. Charley went white as a sheet. "But there's many a slip twixt a cup and a lip." Billy added.

We allowed ourselves a grin. That had been one of John's favorite sayings.

"You gotta let me do somethin' before they catch us," Charley said quietly.

We all got on our horses and followed Charley's lead. We stopped at a mostly Mexican town. Charley looked toward the saloon.

"Damn, Charley, this is your last wish?" said Dirty Steve. "You coulda found a whore in Juarez."

"It's something called a special woman, Dirt Face," said Doc. "You'll understand that one day."

We lined up at the door of the saloon. I'd vowed never to set foot in one again after I left Murphy's, but I didn't like the idea of standing outside and waiting. God only knew how the boys would want to stay; they hadn't seen a woman other than me in a week.

"Square up and shell out for Bowdre," said Billy, dropping a coin in Charley's outstretched hand. "We'll be in the den. Yell if you need a hand." He laughed heartily at his own joke.

The other boys handed Charley some of their money. Last in line was me. I laid a hand on Charley's shoulder. His brown eyes gazed pleadingly into my face. I shook my head. I might have been Charley's pal, but that didn't mean I was willing to finance his first whore. Waste of money is what it was. The money the boys were putting into debauchery could have fed us for at least a week.

As I entered the saloon, a familiar odor stung my nostrils: whiskey, lilac perfume, cigar smoke, and sweaty men. Not a pleasant combination in the least. I sat down in one of the rickety chairs and propped my feet up on the table. A man with long bushy hair was saying to the bartender, "If Billy the Kid's man enough to come around here, he and his lady friend are two hundred dollars flat dead on this bar."

"You can't kill what you can't catch," the barmaid pointed out.

Billy approached the man. "Are you really gonna kill Billy the Kid?" He pointed to the pearl-handle in the man's holster. "You gonna shoot him with that gun? Can I touch it? I'd love to touch the gun that'll kill Billy the Kid."

The man held it out. "You know iron, boy? Have a look. But make sure to give it back. That gun killed Ed Rollins."

"Bullshit," Billy mouthed at us. To the man, he said, "I'm leavin' now and I wanna know what to look for. I'll tell ya if I see him."

"He's a good-lookin' kid. He's got a way with the women and he's a left-hander."

"And the girl?"

"The most drop-dead gorgeous woman you'll ever see. Giant bosoms, thin as a toothpick, and big blue eyes."

I rolled my eyes. The only thing the man had gotten right was that I was skinny and had blue eyes. Well-endowed I wasn't, which was to my advantage when it came to blending in. The man added that The Kid was supposedly fond of whistling sad ballads and Riddle would sing along.

Billy looked in the mirror over the bar and shouted, "I see him!" He pointed at his own reflection.

"I'm a little tired of your wise lip," said the long-haired man. "Get yourself someplace else before I drop your britches in front of all these fine ladies and spank your bottom blue."

Billy started to whistle Dixie. He looked meaningfully toward me to start singing. I kept my mouth firmly shut; I wasn't about to flirt with danger in that manner.

"You are a testy little cuss." the man growled.

Those were the last words he ever spoke. Billy shot him and the man fell to the floor. He asked Doc how many dead Murphy men that made. Doc held up five fingers.

"We'll call it ten," said Billy.

Just then, Charley appeared in the den. "It's John Kinney!" he yelled, panicked.


	11. Chapter 11: A Hundred Against Six

"Hyah! Hyah!" I urged Storm Cloud, squeezing his sides with my legs.

I stood almost completely up in the stirrups so as to avoid bouncing in the saddle. I gripped the reins so hard my knuckles turned white.

"Sorry, boy," I apologized as I inadvertantly dug the bit into his mouth.

I glanced over my shoulder. John Kinney and his posse of at least 20 men were right behind us.

"Billy, they're gaining on us!" Charley wailed.

"Any bright ideas?" I called to Billy as Storm Cloud drew level with Golden Boy.

"One," Billy replied.

He turned Golden Boy sharply to the right. Our horses cantered down a slight hill, right into a grove of thorn trees. I slowed Storm down and bent as low as the saddlehorn would permit. Thorns caught on my coat and hair and sliced into my face. I could hear the boys cursing and screaming behind me. We followed the path and ended up in a muddy creek.

"Where are they?" we heard John Kinney bellow in frustration.

Billy laughed his crazy laugh, absolutely high on having outfoxed the great bounty hunter John Kinney. We rode all through the night and stopped near a place where there was a natural spring. Doc and Dirty Steve stripped down to bathe; I buried my nose in my mother's copy of _Robin Hood, _having no desire to see either of them in the nude.

"Shit, I think I got thorns in my ass," whined Charley.

"Chavez, can you use your knife to pull those things out?" Billy asked.

Charley reluctantly pulled down his trousers and took a long drink of whiskey for courage. "Shit!" He hopped up and down as Chavez's knife carved out the first thorn.

"It breaks my heart too," said Chavez. (Charley somehow missed the sarcasm).

Billy took out a copy of a five-cent book he'd bought, entitled _The Adventures of Billy the Kid, _and began to read aloud to us. "'His hat, covered with gold and jewels, sparkled in a dazzling manner when one looked upon it. The shoes worn by this left-handed prince of the plains had silver spurs in the heels.' I ain't left-handed." Billy strode over to me and showed me one of the illustrations. "And that don't even look like me."

I closed my book and squinted at the page. "Hey, you're right. Much too tall."

Billy lightly smacked me over the head with the book. I retaliated. Billy winced, for _Robin Hood _was much thicker than the book he was holding. Doc interrupted us by saying, "Billy, I've thought about our course. I think we did a big circle twice. And it looks like we're heading back to Lincoln, which I know we can't be--"

Billy cut Doc off. "We are."

For once, Dirty Steve showed presence of mind. "That ain't a good idea."

"Christ in heaven, what are you thinking?" Doc asked.

"If we take Murphy, The Ring will fall, and we'll win this war."

"But it's 100 against 6." Doc argued.

Billy adopted a mocking tone. "It's 100 against 6."

"It's not just 100 men." said Chavez, looking up from treating Charley. "There's bounty hunters everywhere we go. But not west."

Billy rolled his eyes. "Oh Christ. Here we go again."

"I followed you!" Chavez said sharply. "I chose your way, but I don't trust it anymore."

"You're all scared," said Billy. "You're gonna fail the test. You have to test yourself every day. Once you stop testing yourself, you get slow. When that happens, they kill you."

"Did your family raise racehorses by any chance?" I asked of that logic.

Billy acted as though he didn't hear me. "You don't feel that rush when John Kinney's ridin' up on our ass? How the blood goes right to your head? Boom!" Billy fired his pistol at nothing and laughed. "It's quite a sensation."

"Yeah, I bet it is," Doc grumbled. "In your mind, you hear angels sing a fargin' hymn. I shit in my damned britches!" Dirty Steve jumped; Doc was yelling right in his ear. "We've taken enough Murphy scalps! We cannot win this war, not with just six of us." Doc took a breath and said if Billy wanted to keep testing himself, that was fine. "But I'm riding to the border. I'll get a hot meal and a good night's sleep. Come morning, I'm a Mexican."

"Yeah, me too," Charley agreed.

"Mexico, huh?" Billy asked. Doc and Charley nodded. "Y'all are testin' yourselves and you don't even know it. Tryin' to make it to Old Mexico. What a hoot. John Kinney'll be coverin' every which-way in from Texas to Arizona. It's a full day's ride through them thorns we all love so much, which also makes a good hiding place for scalp-hunting renegade Indians. Hell, trying to go to Old Mexico's the test of all tests if you ask me. I'm in."

"I'm really not liking him," muttered Doc.


	12. Chapter 12: Juarez Wedding

About two days later, we reached the little border town of Juarez. A woman grinding corn spotted us and called toward the nearest house. "_Mira! Mira! El Chivato! El Chivato! El Chivato y Furioso Criba!_" Townspeople began to flood into the square, chanting our names over and again. I grinned and sat up a little straighter in the saddle. The children gaped at Storm Cloud. It was doubtful they'd ever seen a horse like that before.

"_Hola. Como estas?" _said Billy, tipping his hat to some of the ladies.

The girls giggled and blushed in response. Some men hauled buckets of water out to our horses, who buried their noses in them at once. I glanced back at the other members of our gang, who looked confused. They were used to being welcomed into town with bullets and death threats; these people were treating us like heroes.

The children swarmed Billy and I, chattering rapidly in Spanish. The gist of it was they wanted to ride our horses. I didn't see harm in leading each of them around a few times, so I lifted the first child who'd asked onto Storm's back. The kids bubbled with joy, unable to believe they were riding a horse that belonged to a real live outlaw.

After the kids were through, the men tied our horses to the hitching post at the cantina and pressed bottles of tequila and whiskey on us. I decided the thing I wanted most was a hot bath and set off to find one. A hand shot out of a rickety wooden building to grab my wrist. A Mexican woman pulled me inside the place, where a tub of hot water was already waiting.

"_Mirada al estado usted; usted es asqueroso,_" she fussed. "_Debo limpiarle antes de que la fiesta comience._" (Look at the state of you; you're filthy. I must clean you up before the fiesta begins).

The woman practically tore my clothes off and shoved me into the tub. She bustled off and returned with a dress in her arms. It was of traditional Mexican style with short, puffy sleeves and long, full skirt. I thanked her warmly. She told me her name was Manuela, left a towel and a cake of soap with me, and exited the building.

I rubbed my arms vigorously with the soap, nearly taking skin off in places. Then I leaned back in the tub to relax. The hot water soothed my muscles, which were aching from endless days of riding. I dozed off briefly before the sound of splashing woke me up. Suddenly, I heard Billy's voice.

"You comfy in there, 'Rena?"

I gasped and yanked the towel so it covered the tub, making sure Billy couldn't see anything but my head. Billy was sitting in the bathtub next door to mind, totally naked and not caring if I saw everything he owned. I fought to keep my face straight and eyes on his. Then Billy turned to Doc and began dictating a letter to Governor Axtell. Satisfied he wouldn't bother me, I removed the towel and applied the soap to my hair. I ducked under the water to rinse.

I came up for air just as the door banged open. "Charley's gettin' married!" Dirty Steve yelled.

Billy jumped out of the tub in surprise and I was treated the sight of his bare backside. Then Dirty Steve glanced to his left. "Hot damn, Billy! Is 'Rena naked?"

Billy walked in front of Steve to block his view. Chavez crept behind and held a knife to Steve's throat. "You need to treat this lady with some respect. She's not some whore you can have your way with," said Chavez. "Now I would appreciate it if you would turn around and give her some privacy."

Billy followed to make sure Steve obeyed, his naked butt shining in the sunlight. I chuckled slightly under my breath. Since all the men were gone, I hurriedly got out of the tub and put on the borrowed dress. I toweled my hair dry and combed it. I snatched two small pieces of leather I found on the floor so I could braid my hair once it dried.

As I walked through the town, I half-expected to run into Billy, but hoped he had enough sense in his head not to walk around in the nude. It was hard to tell how much sense the boy had at times. I passed by Steve, who was drinking from a bottle of whiskey next to a pair of mules. Chavez was chewing him out for being perverted to me earlier. I wondered why Steve was still smiling. If Chavez had been lookin at _me _that way, I'd be running the opposite direction.

Chavez stomped off, quietly pissed, but brightened suddenly as he saw me. "That dress looks nice on you, _Querida_. Brings out those pretty blue eyes."

I blushed; I've never taken compliments well. Chavez took the leather strips from me and began to braid my hair with exquisite care. When I asked how he became so skilled at it, he said, "I was my mother's only son. Five sisters." We talked for a long time afterward. Once I had a braid on either side of my face, I excused myself. I loved talking with Chavez, but I was desperate to find something to eat.

I looked around for anything resembling a cantina or eating house, then noticed the streets of town were deserted. Men in sombreros were napping on doorsteps and outside buildings. I found Billy, clothed again (thank God), in the shadiest spot in the square, his hat low over his face. He seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind him.

"What you up to?" I asked.

"Siesta. Damn, I love these border towns," said Billy.

"Siesta?" I repeated. "Just fargin' perfect."

"Take it you're hungry?" Billy said lightly. He produced a small paper bag from behind his back. "Here. Have one of these."

I tentatively reached into the bag, which was oddly damp. My fingers closed on a small, round object. I withdrew my hand. A pink gumball. Leave it to Billy to keep gumballs in his saddlebag. I popped it in my mouth and immediately noticed an odd, sort of bittersweet flavor. I slowly sucked on the gum. The sugar coating burned as I swallowed. I spit the gumball onto the ground, making a face.

Billy grinned devilishly. "Sorry. Forgot to tell ya. My whiskey bottle sorta broke in my bags."

"Damn you, Billy." I scowled.

Church bells began to peal, signaling the start of Charley's wedding. The Regulators gathered in front of the church. Charley's bride Manuela was wearing a dress that looked like a set of lace drapes (which, I reminded myself, it probably was). I recognized her as the girl who'd set up my bath and loaned me the dress I now wore. Charley grinned broadly, like he thought he was the luckiest man on earth.

The ceremony, which I'd assumed would be simple, dragged on and on. Dirty Steve fell into a stupor. I kept my arms folded tightly over my stomach, hoping that nobody else would hear how loudly it was growling. Regulators and townspeople alike cheered as Charley kissed the bride. Now it was time for the fiesta!

I immediately headed for the buffet table, which was laden with delicious looking Mexican dishes, plus ample amounts of sangria and tequila. Charley appeared at my elbow and downed a shot of tequila.

"You reckon anybody heard?" he asked nervously. "My damn belly started rumblin' like a canyon rockslide when that preacher man was tryin' to read us our vows. Nobody heard it, did they, 'Rena?"

Truthfully, I had heard it throughout the entire ceremony. But, not wanting to spoil Charley's big day, I shook my head. Manuela grasped his hand and the two of them cut the enormous wedding cake. A mariachi band started to play cheerful tunes. Charley's eyes were alight with happiness as he danced with Manuela. Steve paused dancing with Manuela's mother to spit his tobacco out. How pleasant. Chavez held one of Manuela's younger sisters in his arms, gracefully weaving through the other couples.

'How sweet,' I thought. 'What a great father he'd make... Where the hell did that come from?'

"This," Billy said thickly, "is terrific cake. This is a hell of a party, 'Rena." He noticed my eyes on the other couples. "Would you like to have this dance?" He extended his arm.

Billy's hand was sticky, but I took it. He knew the Spanish style of dance quite well. I took it he was no stranger to border towns. Chavez stopped dead and stared at us with something in his eyes. Was it jealously? It must have been, because he put down Manuela's sister, walked over to us, and announced he was cutting in.

Billy reluctantly let go of me. Chavez swept me into his arms. His grip was firm, but not overly restrictive. He smelled nice, very clean. When Chavez wasn't nervous, he was quite a competent dancer. We spent the remainder of the evening dancing to song after song, just enjoying life.


	13. Chapter 13: Showdown McSween Fire

I'd begun another lively dance when a gunshot rang out. The band stopped playing; the other couples stopped dancing. "REGULATORS!" Billy's voice boomed. "Let's mount up."

I wondered what had happened now. Manuela began to weep, desperately clutching at Charley's vest. Doc told Charley he should stay now that he had a wife.

"And he can't shoot worth a piss anyhow," said Billy.

Charley stroked Manuela's face and kissed her tenderly. He jumped onto the back of his chestnut mare. Manuela collapsed into the arms of her mother, sobbing like mad. Charley looked wistfully over his shoulder, probably thinking of the wedding night bliss that had been taken from him.

"It ain't easy havin' pals," said Charley.

With an assist from Chavez, I pulled myself aboard Storm Cloud. This task was a bit difficult to accomplish in my long skirt, but propriety be damned. I had obligations to my pals too; they needed me.

We pounded away into the night. Billy told us that Pat Garrett was planning to kill Alex and Susan McSween. We only had till suppertime the next day to reach Lincoln and warn them. Lincoln's a hell of a ride from Juarez, but we never stopped. Time was too precious. Our horses were half-lame by the time we reached our destination. We breathed a collective sigh of relief as we realized we were hours ahead of schedule.

"Alex!" Billy screamed as we barged in the house without knocking.

Alex, working at his desk, nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard footsteps and saw six flintlock rifles being pointed at him.

"They're gonna come and kill you," Billy panted.

"Damn it, Billy. I told you not to come here," said Alex.

"Ain't safe to stay here. They'll kill you, and then I'll have to go around killing all the guys who killed you. That's a lot of killin'."

"I'm not leaving my house." Alex insisted stubbornly.

"We can't just stay here and hope the good Lord saves us from an allout--" Susan started.

"Susan, I'm sick," wheezed Alex. "I can't go to Old Mexico."

Doc hastily yanked the curtains over the window. "Don't fret, Alex. The trip's postponed. Murphy's boys are comin' around the front."

"They must figure they can end the war in one fell swoop," said Alex. "My God. It's gonna be a massacre." He turned to me. "It's not too late to save yourself, Serena. Run."

I shook my head. No fargin' way. I didn't come this far to let the boys down. Billy's arm pressed across my chest. "Get your back up against somethin' solid," he advised.

I leaned on the wall adjacent to the living room window and waited. It wasn't long before the shots erupted. The world became a blur: pottery breaking, Susan yelling in terror, the sound of ceaseless gunfire. I thought the Murphy boys would never run out of ammo, but they must have after a while because they stopped shooting at us. Billy took advantage of this to rally his troops.

"Charley, take two rifles and go upstairs. Doc, you're going with him. Load heavy. Steve'll cover the north side. 'Rena, you and Chavez take east and west. Don't matter which of ya goes where."

"We know you can shoot, Bonney!" Sheriff Peppin called from outside. "We can too. Give it up!"

The way things turned out, we didn't need to start shooting right away when we hit the attic. Murphy's boys had to wait until the next morning for more ammo and reinforcements, so they set up camp in the town square. The Regulators slept wherever our assigned post was, except Chavez and me. We woke the next morning to the sight of a calvalry.

"They sent in the troops." Billy chuckled. "I like these odds."

"Billy, I know we're good, but this is getting ridiculous." said Doc nervously.

For once, he was right. I gripped my rifle tighter, my heart beating out of control. How the hell were we going to get out of this one? I bared my teeth as I spotted Murphy in his carriage with a pretty Oriental woman. Murphy began to talk to the colonel; the girl made a break for it.

"Soldiers, stop her!" Murphy yelled. "China! China! Get back here!"

"Yen, come up here!" Doc called to the girl. He handed his rifle to Billy and said, "Cover me." Billy blasted towards a pair of soldiers who'd been approaching the house.

"There you go, Colonel!" Murphy said triumphantly. "Your troops have been fired on. You're in the right now." He bustled off down the street, dragging the bewildered colonel with him. "Burn it!" he yelled in the colonel's face.

Oh shit. It wasn't more than a minute before my nostrils filled with the smell of smoke.

"They lit it, boys." Steve said unhelpfully. "They lit the house."

Charley began to sob, saying we had to let him go. He had a wife and he missed her terribly though it had only been a day since we left Juarez. "Charley, if you don't stand up and start whoopin' some ass, you ain't ever gonna see her again," said Billy.

This sparked Charley into life. He began to shoot out the window and yell insults down to the soldiers. Billy joined in, and soon the two of them were having a grand time. Yen, the China girl, stood by the stair railing, holding onto Doc. I raised my rifle to fire at Sheriff Peppin, but a sudden cloud of smoke engulfed me. I dropped to the floor and started coughing harshly. I could feel the heat from the flames as they grew. This was getting dangerous.

"Alex, get Susan out of here," Doc ordered.

Alex took Susan by the arm and walked her to the back staircase. She protested that she wasn't leaving without her things, struggling and screaming with far more drama than the situation strictly called for. We started to toss chests and armloads of books out the window after her.

"Where's Chavez?" Steve asked suddenly. "Where the hell's Chavez?"

"I don't know," I coughed.

"He must have skinned out!" Charley said angrily.

Dirty Steve exploded. "I knew it! That dirty Mexican dog! I knew we shouldn't have trusted him! We're gonna die in here and he's out there doin' it with his horse." Steve began to knock things over and smack chests with the butt of his rifle. "I KNEW IT! I JUST KNEW IT!"

I winced as the sounds of mass destruction continued. Boiling rage filled me. How could the man who'd shared his last scraps of food with me and acted as my protector suddenly turn tail and run? I'd suspect this behavior out of Charley, who often panicked at the first hint of battle, but not Chavez.

Billy laid a hand on his Steve's arm to stop him from throwing a particularly large sea chest through the window. "I got an idea," he said, his blue eyes glittering. He took the quilt out of the chest and crawled in it himself. It was an almost perfect fit. He readied his pistols.

"Okay, here's the plan. Shut the lid and toss me out the window." he said.

"Are you fargin' insane?" I asked him disbelievingly.

"No, uh-uh. Then I pop out and hold off Murphy's men while the rest of you make a break for it."

"There must be another way," said Doc.

"You got any better suggestions, Scurlock?" Billy snapped. That shut him up.

I lowered the lid into place. This was without doubt the stupidest thing we'd ever done, but stupid plans have a way of working sometimes. I grasped the handle of the trunk, but could hardly raise one end. Jesus, Billy was heavier than I thought. Charley and Steve and me heaved it out the window. It bounced once and landed upright. Billy burst out like a crazed jack-in-the box.

Doc and Yen made for the stairs; the rest of us followed close behind. Lead zipped past me as I lit up the square with my pearl handles. A figure on horseback charged toward us, towing three other horses behind it.

"Chavez!" I bellowed. Steve's jaw dropped as he realized Chavez hadn't abandoned us; he was getting transportation. I reminded myself to thank Chavez if the two of us were alive and reasonably intact at the end of the day.

I turned just in time to see Charley finish off John Kinney, and an eerie calm settled over me. A bullet slammed into Chavez's side, knocking him off his horse. Steve helped him back on, which surprised the hell out of me; the two of them hated each other on principle. Less than a second later, Steve was dead. I heard an animalistic cry of pain. Billy had been shot in the shoulder twice and hit in the gut at least once.

"Eat my lead, bastards!" I yelled to the soldiers, who looked utterly surprised to see a woman wielding a gun.

I cut down as many as I could before mounting the last remaining horse. I rode away to make sure Chavez was all right. Billy confronted Murphy. "Reap it, you son of a bitch," he said as he pulled the trigger. He nodded to the rest of his gang. "Now it's over."


	14. Chapter 14: The Aftermath

Me and the boys rode out of Lincoln as quickly as possible. We knew the law would be after us. We stopped in a large field once we were sure we weren't being followed. Billy was almost doubled over in the saddle, his white shirt growing redder every second. He was breathing hard, and I could tell he was trying not to cry.

"Hey, are you all right?" I asked him.

"Sure. I've gotten worse bellyaches from your cooking." said Billy.

I scowled. "That's not funny."

I glanced over at Charley, who had calmed immeasurably since we left Lincoln. He turned his horse to the south, saying he was going back to Juarez to see Manuela. We wished him well. Then Doc announced he was taking Yen back east. "Where you going?" Doc asked Billy.

"Silver City, Albuquerque, Fort Sumner maybe."

"You're staying here?" said Chavez. "That's not a smart choice, _Chivato_. The rest of the Murphy men will hang you if they find you."

"They can't hang me if they don't find me," said Billy. "I'm not leavin' here. New Mexico's my home." He sat quietly for a moment, a soft breeze ruffled our hair. Then Billy turned his back to us. "'Rena, did you know you're bleeding?"

Now I remembered some of the bullets Murphy's boys fired had grazed me. I was damn lucky not to be hurt worse.

"I wish ya luck, wherever you're gonna go, Chavez," said Billy, preparing to turn his horse.

"May the Great Spirit protect you, _Chivato_." Chavez said seriously. I knew what he must be thinking, that Billy might not make it considering how bad he was hurt. I hoped Billy would survive; I always liked him.

"You take care of yourself, 'Rena." Billy rode away, leaving me and Chavez alone in the desert.

"Where you headed?" I asked.

"California. Like I said before." he replied.

"Take me with you," I said. I mentally shook myself. Why the hell had I said that?

Chavez shook his head sadly. "My life will be too unpredictable for some time, _Querida_, and I love you too much to allow you to risk yours." I blinked, taken slightly aback. Chavez laid his hand on mine. "But I promise you one thing: Someday, when the timing is right, I will come back for you and we can make a long life together."

"I-I love you...too," I stammered. I removed the cord on which hung the bullet I'd taken. "I want you to have this to remember me by."

Chavez slipped the cord around his own neck. We hugged the best we could with both of us on horseback. I watched as he rode off toward the west.

Now, I had a hell of a problem. I never expected to live through the Lincoln County War, so I hadn't made any plans for later. I swallowed my tears and tried to think coherently. Trying to settle in a town somewhere was ludicrous; I was too well-known. The only other option I had was to ride to my former home, Warm Springs Reservation. If I arrived and nothing was left of it, well, I was truly screwed.

I rode until it was almost dark and reached a small town. I was hungry and thirsty, but had too much pride to start knocking on strangers' doors. Besides, with my luck, the owner of the house would recognize me as the famous outlaw Rampaging Riddle and take a poke at collecting the price on my head. I slept in the desert that night, keeping one eye open in case I was attacked.

Midday, I reached the rock formations I knew to border our burial ground. I turned the stolen horse loose and began the hike to the village. The men posing as sentries glowered at me suspiciously. I doubted they remembered who I was, since they hadn't seen me in four years. My God, had it been that long?

I walked through the village. Usually at this time of day, the people would be out enjoying the sunshine: women grinding corn or weaving, men racing their war ponies, small children getting under everyone's feet. The village of the present was ominously silent, not so much as a scrawny coydog prowling the area. I reached the outskirts of the village and spotted the teepee I once shared with Father.

I cautiously pushed back the flap and stuck my head inside. A man knelt on a woven mat with his back to me, intent on whatever he was doing. His black hair was streaked haphazardly with gray, quite unlike Black Fox. Sadly, I realized Father must have died during my absence and this man was his replacement.

I closed the tent flap. I sat down on the ground outside, pulled my knees to my chest, and began to cry. All day long I'd pictured Father coming to greet me, looking just as he had when I was fifteen. But he was dead now and I hadn't been there for him. I gave a small gasp of surprise as I heard the tent flap open. The new medicine looked curiously at me, then his rheumy eyes glimmered.

"Daughter!" he exclaimed.

"Father!" The relief I felt was indescribable.

Father wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. I closed my eyes, breathing in the sweet, familiar odor of sage and sweetgrass. We broke apart. Father took my face in his hands, as though to make sure it was truly me.

"I'm home," I whispered to him as tears ran down my face again.


	15. Chapter 15: 1879, Warm Springs

I quickly settled back into reservation life, becoming an apprentice to my father. I anxiously waited for any word from Chavez. Even as the seasons changed without so much as a telegram, I never gave up hope. It wasn't in Chavez's nature to go back on his word, so I trusted him completely.

The rest of 1878 passed fairly uneventfully. But as 1879 began, troubling rumors reached my ears. Governor Axtell had been forced to resign by President Hayes, replaced by Lou Wallace. Wallace's intention was to bring all parties who'd so much as fired a shot during the Lincoln County War to the New Mexico Territory and try the individuals for their crimes. Upon hearing this, I decided to be a hell of a lot more careful about setting foot outside tribal lands.

Another rumor passed to me through the Indian communication system (which was a hell of a lot more efficient than the Pony Express): Billy the Kid was still running wild through New Mexico. The law couldn't seem to track him down, so the bounty had been increased to a thousand dollars. With such a hefty price tag, Billy had to be running out of places to hide. I wondered how long it would take for him to seek refuge in Warm Springs; no white lawman would think to look here.

Our paths wouldn't cross again until midwinter. On morning, I was shaken awake earlier than I would have liked by Father. He told me it was my turn for sentry duty. I frowned, slightly confused. "I'm allowed?" I asked.  
Women were never asked to stand sentry; we usually cooked or sewed.

"Yes," Father replied. "You have the courage of fifty braves and are very handy with weapons. Now get up, Daughter, and take your post at the burial ground."

I was honored to be chosen as sentry, but spending hours in open ground was the last thing I wanted to do on a raw, frosty morning. Still, I knew better than to disobey an elder. Grudgingly, I left my bed of fur blankets and prepared myself for the day. I put on a fresh shirt and tied Chavez's bandanna around my forehead, then gathered my supplies: Father's knife, a bow, a quiver of arrows, and an apple.

I settled myself in a secluded spot near the canyon, fixing my eyes on the entrance to the burial ground. After a few hours passed without a sign of any intruders, I began to succumb to boredom. Hunger hit, so I bit into the apple. Suddenly, I heard the sound of approaching hooves. I squinted down at the burial ground. A group of horsemen stood near the graves. My heart leapt as I noticed Chavez leading the group; Billy and Doc were the only guys I recognized.

I remained at my post, munching my apple. Perhaps they were lost and would move on. But then one of the men I didn't recognize rode over to a grave and began to dig through the rocks covering it. I jumped to my feet and snatched up my bow. I threw the apple with all my might; it pegged the grave robber in the head.

"Where the hell did that come from?" he wondered aloud, rubbing the back of his head.

Then Chavez, screaming with rage, jumped from his charging horse on top of the other man. I watched the progress of the fight closely as I scrambled down from the rocks. Chavez and the other man wrestled on the ground for a while, then the grave robber pulled out a thick bone-handled knife. Chavez pulled a double-ended blade from inside his boot and twirled it expertly. The pair danced about for awhile, trying to avoid being stabbed. The other man threw dirt in Chavez's face and knocked him to the ground, then he drove his knife to the hilt through Chavez's arm.

'Bastard,' I thought.

I swallowed sickly as Chavez lay motionless, knife stuck in him. He regained his vision and slashed out at the other man. The blade tore the man's shirt and opened a gash on his stomach. It took the other man a minute to realize he'd been injured.

"Shit, shit," he cursed, reaching for his pistol.

I crept behind him, nocking an arrow into my bow. I pulled the string taught and said, "Not one more move."

I heard guns cocking all around the cemetery. Billy's voice said lightly, "I don't think so, Dave." Then he chuckled. "Serena Riddle. I'll be damned."

"Nice to see ya again, Billy," I said, turning to address him, but keeping one eye on Dave.

"Wow," breathed a kid who barely looked thirteen. "Billy, is that Rampaging Riddle?"

I bent over Chavez to check how much damage had been done. It looked bad; I had to get him to Father right away. I helped Chavez to his feet, and he managed a grin. "_Querida,_" he said faintly.

"Don't try to talk," I said. "You'll be all right as soon as I get you to my father."

"What about me?" whined Dave. "I'm bleedin' too."

I rolled my eyes disgustedly; Dave had no more than a glorified scratch. Before I could say anything, Billy spoke up. "Ain't nobody gonna help ya, Dave. Nobody can stand the way you carry on with that hatefulness. You got what was comin' to ya, way you're always insultin' Chavez and his family."

He continued in this vein as I led Chavez away. He leaned against me so hard he damn near broke my back before we reached Father's tent. Using my native tongue, I explained to Father that my friend Chavez Twice had been injured while trying to protect our burial ground from robbers. (I called him Chavez Twice because his full name pretty much meant that).

"Wait outside, Daughter," said Father. "This is not for you to see."

Now, if I had stomached witnessing the injury, I could sure as hell witness the treatment. But I knew I had to do whatever Father said. As I left the tent, Father instructed me to gather moss and some clean cloth. When I returned from my mission, I sat on the ground outside the tent until Father emerged. He was covered in blood. I questioned him with my eyes; he beckoned me in.

I gasped. Chavez was slumped against the tent, eyes closed, his whole arm soaked in blood. "Is he dead?" I worriedly asked Father.

Father shook his head and began to clean himself up. "He lost much blood, but he will be all right," he said with absolute conviction. "He has a warrior's strength."

I knelt next to Chavez and began to bandage his arm. I had to stop several times to collect myself, as tears kept clouding my vision. I decided to remain with him until he came to again.


	16. Chapter 16: First Night with a New Gang

I'd been sitting with Chavez for quite a while when an unexpected voice made me jump. "Hi." It was Billy. Quickly, I dried my eyes and wiped my nose. I've never been the type to show too much emotion; in fact, I can count on one hand the number of times anybody has seen me cry.

"Are you okay, 'Rena?" Billy asked gently.

"Yeah. I'm just fine," I replied.

"How's Chavez doin'?" Billy continued.

"Still out cold, but Father says he'll live." I said.

A sudden groan behind me attracted my attention. Chavez was sitting up, rubbing his head like he had a headache. "I think I'm fit for another day," he said. "Please thank your father for his kindness, _Querida_. I owe him my life."

"I'll do that," I promised.

"We got a score to settle with my old friend Patsy," said Billy as I walked them back to their horses. "You gonna come with us, 'Rena?"

I thought about that for a minute. I wanted to join the boys on whatever the hell they were up to, but I wasn't sure I wanted to leave Father. He'd missed me every day when I was gone for four years, then I'd finally come home. I knew it would upset him if I left again.

Doc put a hand on my shoulder. "It's fine if you don't come. We all know that you're brave; you don't have to prove anything."

"I can't leave you boys hanging," I said. "We made a pact to be pals forever."

"I don't care if you all swapped spittle and took turns giving each other a roll in the hay," said Dave. "I don't take to women in my gang, and I definitely don't take to no Indian women."

"It ain't your gang, Dave," Billy reminded him.

"No, you should stay here," said Chavez. "There's lynch mobs everywhere we go, and they _will _kill you, _Querida._"

I turned to go back to the village. I sat down with Father and had a serious conversation with him. He didn't like the idea of me leaving again since there was no guarantee I would come back, but he didn't forbid me to join the gang. I rounded up Storm Cloud, saddled him, and caught up with the boys just as they were leaving.

"Wow," breathed the little boy I'd seen with them. "I'm gonna ride the trail with The Kid _and _Rampaging Riddle."

Billy grabbed the boy by his shirtfront, pulled him real close to his face and said, "You better quit callin' us by those absurd nicknames, or I'll give you a name that'll stick with you forever you won't like. Little Orphan Tommy comes to mind. Maybe Shadow Tom, or somethin' catchy like that. I don't wanna hear any more crazy talk about lawlessness bein' fashionable. It ain't nothin' to sneeze at if you break the law, especially when it involves killin'. Won't lead nowhere but to the grave; you best learn that and learn it fast. You hear me?"

Tommy nodded. "Yes, sir."

Everything was pretty silent until dark, when we found a place to stop and set up camp. Arkansas Dave stretched out lazily on the ground and said, "Billy, if you insist on this woman bein' in my gang, _I _insist she make herself useful. I could use some supper right quick, darlin'."

I glared at him. "Call me 'darlin' again and see what happens."

Tommy asked nervously, "Do--do you really scalp your victims?"

I raised an eyebrow. What was with this kid anyway?

"No. Not recently, anyways," Billy said just for devilment.

Arkansas Dave blinked. Beneath the dirt all over his face and scruffy beard, I'd swear I detected a hint of worry. Well, if he wanted to think I was some kind of bloodthirsty savage, I was all for letting him. At least it might keep him from insulting me.

I grabbed my six-shooter and went off in search of game. Being that it was late in the evening, there wasn't a hell of a lot of choice other than scorpions or rattlers. Scorpions actually weren't bad after they were shelled and their stingers cut off, but it would take a damn colony to feed seven people. I took my time getting back to camp; I knew the boys wouldn't be happy that I hadn't found any supper.

I got back just in time to witness an amusing episode. Arkansas Dave was saying uneasily, "Darkness ain't natural." Without missing a beat, Chavez kicked some dirt over the campfire and it promptly went out. I chuckled as I lay down next to Chavez. He and I always slept side by side on long journeys for warmth; he didn't want me to catch cold. I closed my eyes and drifted away.


	17. Chapter 17: Bloodbath at Chisum's

A/N: No reviews :-( PLEASE click the little purple button. Also, some events in future chapters may be out of sequence, but I had to do it to keep Serena in the story.

* * *

Billy woke us all early the next morning. He told us we were going to pay a visit to John Simpsum Chisum. Chisum was not only the richest man in the New Mexico Territory; he'd also been a financial partner of Tunstall and McSween. Albeit, he was a silent partner, but still an important ally. As soon as we got some money from him, Billy promised to take us all to hide out in Old Mexico. He told us of the Mexican Blackbird, a trail he'd blazed himself many years ago. I'd never heard of it, but I still trusted Billy. I didn't think he would intentionally lead us into danger.

Chisum lived on a sprawling ranch in the middle of nowhere, the biggest one I'd ever seen. A Mexican worker began to feverishly ring a bell as the seven of us rode into the ranch. Chisum came out of the house, dressed in a fancy smoking jacket. He gave us a big false smile.

"Well, my God. You really turned out to be a snake, Billy. When they catch you, they'll dry-gulch your stinkin' bones."

Billy ignored the remark and said in a calm, placid tone, "I'm trying to get my friends to Old Mexico, Mr. Chisum. We need some pesos to get there. I've done some figuring. You owe us $250 for the fighting we all did last year, and another $250 for me leaving your stock alone."

"Oh, is that what you figured?" asked Chisum with a small chuckle.

"Yes, sir, it's what I figured." Billy replied.

"Well, you can shove those figures up your arrogant little ass and set fire to 'em," Chisum said nastily. "I don't owe you a goddamn thing."

"You took my farm, Mr. Chisum," piped up Hendry.

I glared fiercely at Hendry to shut him up.

"We just want to get out of here," pleaded Doc. "Get down below."

"Oh, you'll get down below, all right, Doc. You'll get down below. You're Billy the Kid too, you know. You all are, and I don't owe you a goddamn thing." said Chisum. "Now get the hell out of here, or I'll bring my .50 down and give you a _real_ game."

Aw hell. Chisum had done it now. It was never a good idea to threaten Billy, least of all when his temper was already under severe strain from lack of food and sleep. Quick as lightning, Billy plucked one of his guns from its holster and pointed at the Mexican ranch hands.

"Yoo-hoo!" he sang. "I'll make you famous. Chisum, which of these boys is the fastest with the iron?"

"Don't you do it, Billy," said Chisum.

"That be me," piped up the shorter, chubbier of the two Mexicans.

"Drop Sam Colt," Billy ordered.

The ranch hand uneasily slid his gun belt off. Billy got off his horse, handing the reins to Doc. "You owe me $500 dollars, Mr. Chisum. What I'm gonna do is kill one of your men for every $5 you owe me."

Arkansas Dave interrupted. "Billy, why shoot the dumb Mexicans? If Chisum needs a pound of flesh, he can take her. I'll bet she knows how to do somethin' worth $500 dollars."

I felt my face growing hot. I punched Dave in the mouth as hard as I could, bloodying his lip. "Shit!" he cursed, spitting out a tooth. "You little bi--"

Chavez held up his knife. "Do you really want to finish that word, Dave?" he asked lightly.

I looked back to Billy, who'd just thrown his own gun belt into the dirt. "When I go for my gun, you can start shootin'. But I promise, you will not make it." He took a step toward the gun. The Mexican fired, but Doc put him down before we could blink. "495," Billy counted down.

A second later, Arkansas Dave sent the second ranch hand to meet the first. Chisum looked at the bodies, jaw dropped to the ground.

"490," Billy said with a smirk.

Chisum's face twisted with fury. "You just killed yourself. You think you're the scourge of New Mexico? Well, by God, I _am _New Mexico. And _you _are dead."

"I wouldn't give a bucket of piss for your future," said Billy, mounting his faithful palamino. "You have yourself a good day now."

"Billy, was that really necessary?" Doc asked as we rode away. "Now the bounty on all our heads will double, or even triple. You can't kill employees of the richest man in the territory and think no one will notice."

Billy announced the next stage of his plan. "If it's too much of a hardship for Chisum to give us money, we'll just take a few of his cows."

"That's suicidal," I said. "He'll just add to his security arrangements after what we just did. We'd end up with lead shot in our skulls."

"Tell ya, that's how it's gotta be sometimes," Billy sharply. "Sometimes a man won't listen to nothin' else."

"And I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell don't wanna starve to death before we get to Old Mexico. I guaran-damn-tee ya that's what'll happen if we don't pick up some cash fast." added Dave.

"What about Charley Bowdre?" asked Doc. "I know he'll let us stay with him once we find him."

"We'd have to find him first," Billy pointed out.

We rode to a small prairie and set up camp. We told stories around the fire, attempting to ignore how loudly our stomachs were growling. I fell asleep before the others and woke to the stench of fresh cow manure. I looked around; we were surrounded by at least ten head of cattle.

"This is your idea of a few cows?" I asked Billy incredulously.

He just laughed and slapped his knee like this was the greatest joke in the world. Sweet Christ in heaven, that boy must have had a death wish.


	18. Chapter 18: White Oaks

We rode toward the nearest town, making very slow progress because we kept having to chase after cattle that broke away from the herd. Probably three days later, we found it. Billy approached the first person he saw. He put an arm around the man's shoulder and led him toward us. "How 'bout some cows?" asked Billy.

The man inspected the herd and paid us a handsome sum for it. Billy found a stick and scratched a math problem in the dirt. He laboriously calculated how to divide the money between seven of us, which amounted to almost 25 dollars apiece and a little left over. Enough to get us across the border, if the boys didn't spend it on whiskey and women first. Once we all had our money, Hendry approached Billy.

"Well, you're called Kid, Serena is Rampaging Riddle, and Rudabaugh is Arkansas Dave," Hendry rattled off. "And I daresay Doc's Christian name ain't Doc."

"You want a name?" Billy guessed.

"I would like that very much indeed," said Hendry.

"You have to earn your nickname. Until then, you're stuck with plain old Hendry. Sorry," Billy apologized. He motioned to Dave, who was slinking toward a cantina to gamble away his money. "Get back here, Rudabaugh. Mount up."

"Where are we going now?" Doc asked wearily.

"We're goin' to White Oaks. I wanna drop in on an old friend of mine," Billy replied.

"Who?" asked Tommy.

"Jane Greathouse," Billy said, smiling to himself. "Most beautiful gal in all of New Mexico. Besides 'Rena, I mean."

White Oaks was another day's ride from where we were. We got there at about midafternoon; a sign outside town read "Welcome to White Oaks. We Will Not Tolerate Scum."

"What's scum?" asked Tommy.

"Well, Tom, that's bad types: politicians, cattle kings, and such," Billy explained.

As we rode into the town itself, it became very clear that the citizens of White Oaks had a much different definition of scum. The townsfolk were all wearing their best clothes; I ventured a guess it was Sunday. They gaped in open-mouthed horror at us. Mothers pulled their children to the other side of the street, away from our horses. The kids' eyes glimmered with excitement; they knew us well from our Wanted posters.

We dismounted in front of a large manor house located a few doors down from the church. A woman with spiral-curled red hair, wearing a long purple gown, descended the stairs. "Well, I'll be hog-tied and sent to Hades!" she cried, throwing herself into Billy's arms. "Billy! What did you bring me?" She chuckled as we filed through the doorway. "4, 5, 6 wicked boys. Are you wicked and wanted or just plain wicked?"

"$1,000 dollars on me." Billy bragged.

"I heard $500," said Jane.

"Then you heard wrong."

Dave nudged Tommy in the ribs as Jane led us to a nicely furnished sitting room. "We're gonna make a man out of you, son," Dave snickered.

I gave a small gasp. I'd known this place was a whorehouse from the get-go, but I didn't suspect the boys would try to get Tommy involved. A young black girl moved about the room with a silver tray of shot glasses as the boys seated themselves. Tommy eagerly slurped the whiskey, then suddenly grimaced. He looked desperately around, probably for something to kill the fire going down his throat.

Jane suddenly turned to me. "Oh, my heavens. If it ain't Ravishin' Riddle, the sweetest songbird a saloon could ever see. I never got a chance to see you, but I heard you were good. How about singin' a little somethin' for old time's sake?"

I forced myself to be polite. "I'd like to, Jane, but I can't. Me and the boys are runnin' a little low on supplies. Does this town have a general store?"

"Right down there, sugar," said Jane, pointing to the left.

"Can I get you boys somethin' while I'm there?" I asked.

"Gumballs," said Tommy.

"A new book if you can find one," said Doc.

"And don't forget the apples," said Billy. "Like I always say: 'An apple a day keeps the lynch mobs away.'" He giggled hysterically at his own joke. Calming down, he added, "And some cake if they got it. Christ, it's been so long since I've had some real good cake."

I nodded, trying to keep everything the boys requested in mind. "I'll be back before you get a chance to miss me," I promised.

"Oh, you can take your time, darlin'," Dave assured me. "We ain't in no hurry."

'I'll _bet_ they aren't,' I thought as I left the manor.


	19. Chapter 19: Close Encounter with Garrett

I walked in the open doorway of the general store, which had the same odd, yet comforting mix of smells that all stores had. I picked up a few white handkerchiefs; Chavez's arm needed to be wrapped in clean bandages soon. I hadn't cared for the way he'd been acting lately, too quiet. I knew Chavez would never admit it, but I thought the wound had weakened him. I hoped Billy would decide to spend a few days in White Oaks so Chavez could get some much needed bed rest.

My eyes fell upon the shelves and barrels of food next to the counter. I seized the ripest, reddest apple in the barrel and bit into it. I probably should have shown more dignity as a lady, but what the hell? I was in men's clothes anyway and no one would be the wiser. The clerk, the same awkward, bespectacled specimen employed in every store I'd seen, frowned disapprovingly at me. Coolly, I moved my coat aside to reveal the knife tucked into my gun belt. The clerk made a small noise, like a mouse being trodden on, but didn't say anything.

As I took another bite of apple, I got the feeling I was no longer alone in the store. I turned, coming face-to-face with a tall man dressed totally in black. He had dark hair, ice-blue eyes, and a short, neatly trimmed beard. I instantly recognized the man from posters I'd seen several towns ago: Pat Garrett for Sheriff. My heart pounded; this was not a good situation. He had to know who I was.

"Mighty powerful appetite for such a small gal," Garrett said with the ghost of a grin.

I swallowed and composed myself. It was time to act like a simple, meek prairie woman and pray to God I'd get out of here alive. "Beg your pardon for my lack of manners, sir. I've been riding for days, and I'm quite famished."

"I can see," said Garrett with the same expression on his face.

I ignored him and bustled about the store, gathering food and supplies in my arms. Garrett followed me.

"Where'd you come from?" he asked.

"Albuquerque," I replied. "I'm headed out to Oregon to teach school there."

"This is hardly the time for a woman to be traveling alone. There are lawless men in these parts, just waiting for easy prey," said Garrett.

I laid my purchases on the counter and pulled my roll of bills from my pocket. Garrett shook his head at the clerk. "I'll be paying for this lady's purchases," he said.

"Why, that's very generous of you, Mr. Garrett," I said.

Something moved in Garrett's face. "Have you ever heard of the outlaw Rampaging Riddle?" he asked lightly.

Scur

"No," I said.

"Oh, I'm sure you have, ma'am. In fact, I'd say you're her spitting image."

I said nothing; Garrett was trying to provoke me into saying something stupid. He could try, but I would make sure he didn't succeed. I gathered up my supplies and left the store. Garrett called after me, "Good afternoon, ma'am. Have a safe trip."

I was halfway across the street when I remembered about the cake. Billy would be beyond pissed I hadn't bought it, but I couldn't risk going back to the store. Not so long as Garrett was around. Next, I took Storm Cloud to the blacksmith. He had a loose shoe that needed repairs. Chores done, I walked back to Jane's. Surely the boys would be done by now...

The minute I entered Jane's, the sound of laughter and squeaking beds reached my ears. I knew Chavez would never sleep with a whore, so I figured it would be safe to go check on him. The problem was, I had no idea which room he was in. When I emerged on the landing, I opened the first door I noticed. Upon opening it, I was treated to the sight of two whores "entertaining" a naked (and very drunk) Arkansas Dave.

"Oh God!" I groaned in disgust, closing my violated eyes.

Dave hastily yanked a sheet over himself and hollered, "Close the damn door!"

I gladly did. I moved down the hallway to test another door. This time, I had the good sense to press my ear to it before opening it. No sound was coming from within. I hesitantly pushed the door open. Chavez lay fully clothed on the bed, sleeping peacefully. The door squeaked; he opened one eye.

"_Querida,_" he said, smiling.

I smiled too; he'd never react so calmly to anyone else that interrupted his sleep. He winced as he tried to push himself up with his injured arm. I sat next to him on the bed and spread out one of the handkerchiefs. I emptied the pockets of my coat, which contained a fair amount of food from the general store. Chavez didn't seem to notice and started to close his eyes again.

"I think you better eat something," I said, pushing an apple into his hand. "You're starting to look pale."

Chavez skinned the apple with his knife, then hungrily chomped into it. He made short work of the apple and moved on to the rest of our small picnic. We cuddled together, ready for a nap, but our quiet moment was cut short by the sound of approaching horses and a man's voice bellowing, "William H. Bonney! Alias Billy the Kid! Alias William Antrim! Josiah Scurlock, alias Doc! Serena Riddle, alias Rampaging Riddle!"

The door banged open and Billy stuck his head, hastily buttoning his shirt. "A posse found us," he said tensely. "I bet that son of a bitch Pat Garrett's behind this. You two get rolling downstairs."

We crashed down the steps while the head of the posse continued to shout, "And Dave Rudabaugh of Las Vegas, alias Arkansas Dave!"

"He said Dave Rudabaugh of Las Vegas!" Dave yipped happily.

"Yeah, I'm real happy for ya, Dave," Doc said sarcastically.

"Any other black knights on the premises shall turn their bodies over to the law, or perish in flame!"


	20. Chapter 20: Deputy Carlyle

Jane inhaled deeply; the scowl on her face would have stopped a clock. "I know that voice. It's Deputy Carlyle. I best go speak to him." She yanked open the front door of the saloon, marched out, and yelled, "Deputy Carlyle, what the hell is goin' on out here?"

There was a small scream. Deputy Carlyle called to us, "Billy the Kid, we've got Jane Greathouse held out here. I'm coming in to talk to you, and if anything happens to me, the citizens will string her up and burn her. Do you agree to those terms?"

Billy chuckled under his breath. "'Do you agree to those terms?' Who is this guy?" Quickly, he cleared his throat and called through the door, "Yes, sir. We agree to those terms."

I chanced a peek through the curtains. Jane was being restrained by two men in white hoods who were obviously armed. At least thirty other men were behind those two. All carried torches; some carried pitchforks and other farm implements. Things looked bad, all right, but Billy had a plan. "Boys, put your guns away and look respectable. Ladies, go back upstairs. Riddle, O'Folliard, disappear."

"Like hell I will," I said through gritted teeth.

"Now is not the time to screw around with me, 'Rena," said Billy. "Just shut your yap and do what you're told."

I stood my ground. Billy might have been our leader, but I only listened to him when he addressed me in a halfway respectful fashion. Dave saw my behavior in the worst terms and swung back one of his hands.

"If you harm so much as a hair on _Querida_'s head, I'll bury you," Chavez warned.

While Dave was considering those terms, a bony hand curled around my arm and its owner dragged me behind the piano. I turned my head slightly and came face-to-face with Tommy. "You little--" was all I got out before Tommy covered my mouth. That damned kid was going to get it...

The boys scrambled to get into casual poses. Dave, Billy, and Doc sat around a large table. Billy leafed through an issue of _The Independent _while Doc dealt himself a game of solitaire; Chavez sat near the fireplace and opened up a book. A man of medium height and average build entered the saloon. He had a bushy black mustache and wore a long, dark coat. He cleared his throat and Billy looked up.

"Gentlemen, which of you is the leader of your gang?" asked the man, who I assumed was Deputy Carlyle.

"I am," said Dave and Billy together.

"You are not, Dave," said Billy.

"I am so!" Dave shouted back.

"You are not."

"I am so!"

"Not!"

"Am!"

Tommy giggled as the two continued their argument, sounding for all the world like children. I elbowed Tommy to make him shut up.

Deputy Carlyle cleared his throat again. "Gentlemen, I am a deputized man, and I do things the law way."

"Which way?" Billy asked, getting up from the table and planting himself about an inch from Carlyle's face.

"Law...way," said Carlyle, seeming to lose some of his coolness. "The people out there do things their own way. They got their minds set on a hangin', and it's gonna be hell if I can't control the situation. What I propose is this: I understand you have Indians in your group."

Billy nodded. "Yes, sir. Jose Chavez _y _Chavez, he's a Mexican-Indian. And, uh, Rampaging Riddle's a half-breed. How'd they be?"

At this, I squeezed out from behind the piano, almost knocking Tommy to the floor, and angrily strode into the parlor. How dare Billy betray me after all his big talk about pals and loyalty?

"Well, that'd be just fine," Carlyle smiled. "The rest of you can just ride out."

"I can agree to those terms." said Billy. "Now, Mr. Law Way, may I see your hat?"

"I don't see how hats are relevant in this situation," said Carlyle uneasily.

Billy cocked his pistol. "I do."

Not about to argue with that, Carlyle allowed Doc to remove his hat and overcoat. Billy went over to the fireplace and returned with Chavez's hat. He plopped it on Carlyle's head and wrapped a Navajo blanket he'd found on the sofa around Carlyle's shoulders.

"There. I can talk to you now. You don't look like such a politician," said Billy.

"Can I take the Indians with me or not?" asked Carlyle.

"The Indians are going out to satisfy the crowd, just like I said."

I prepared to run. If Billy was gonna betray me and I was meant to die that night, I sure as hell wouldn't go quietly. I glanced toward Chavez. He wasn't the least bit tense, which I found odd. Didn't he realize we were both about to die?

Billy pointed his gun at Carlyle's head. "You obviously don't understand the meaning of the word 'pals.' You honestly thought I'd hand my friends over to a bucket of mule dung like you? That's an insult. Turn around, Chief."

A male voice from outside bellowed, "Come on, Carlyle! Are ya bringin' him out or not?"

"All right, you white caps! We're coming out, but we'll be comin' out shootin'! Get ready for war!" Billy hollered back.

He got behind Carlyle and pushed him forward, trying his best to imitate an Indian war whoop. I went ahead of Billy and pulled open the door. Gunshots rang out the second I closed the door after Carlyle. I ducked the bullets, shards of broken glass raining on my back. For a moment, all was quiet. Then I heard many hooves pounding away.

"They're all skinnin' out," said Hendry.

I looked through the shattered window and immediately knew why. The citizens of White Oaks had just murdered their own deputy. Billy laughed his one-of-a-kind laugh as he ambled to the bar. He poured himself a sizeable shot of whiskey and raised his glass to us. "Pals," he said, throwing back his head to drain the glass.

I headed for the door when I heard footsteps on the front porch. Maybe someone had come to finish what Carlyle started. No, it was only Jane. She stepped idly over Carlyle's corpse, letting her long skirt drag across his face. She eyed the damage to her wall, window, and door; her face clouded with anger.

"I'm awful sorry 'bout this, Jane," Billy apologized. "I swear I can make it up to you." He handed Jane a wad of bills. "Here. This is for the damages. And this," he added, handing her some money Dave had carelessly left on the table, "is so you can buy yourself a pretty new dress."

She smiled coquettishly. "Why, thank you kindly, William H. Bonney."

"Always my pleasure, Jane." said Billy. He turned to the rest of us. "Let's saddle up before the good sheriff comes pokin' 'round."


	21. Chapter 21: Old Pals

I woke the next day to the sound of retching punctuated with sniffles and whimpers. Apparently, whiskey had not agreed with Tommy. Losing his virginity and getting his first hangover within a few hours of each other, he was growing up damn fast. When Tommy was all through getting sick, he dissolved into tears of shame. He worshipped Billy, so I guess he was afraid that Billy would lose respect for him when he saw how sick Tom was.  
All his worrying was for nothing; Billy was still sound asleep under his coat. How he could have slept through the racket Tommy made as he threw up was anybody's guess.

"Don't let him find out," Tommy pleaded to me.

I took pity on Tommy and I helped him clean up the mess he'd made all over the ground. I gave him a cup of hot water with chamomile in it to drink so it would settle his stomach down. He passed out a minute later, curled up at Billy's feet like a faithful pet dog.

I squinted up at the sky. It was still fairly dark out. I could probably get an hour or two's worth of sleep before Billy would start hollerin' at us to wake up. Tiredly, I crawled back to the spot where I'd left my bedroll the night before. I laid my head down and started to close my eyes. But it seemed like my pillow was moving.

'_What the hell..._' I thought.

Turning my head slightly to the left, I realized that my pillow was Chavez's midsection. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled slightly.

"Good morning, _Querida,_" he said. "You're up a little early."

"Tom wasn't feeling well so I got up to take care of him," I said. I knew he wouldn't ask what was wrong with Tom; he probably knew already. I tried to adjust my position and fiery pain shot through my back. "Shit!" I cursed.

"Is something wrong?" Chavez asked concernedly.

"Yeah." I said. "Everything from my neck down is all tight."

Chavez sat up, gently guiding me to the ground. He stripped off his gloves and said to me, "Roll over on your belly."

Had it been any other man, I would have told him to stick his gun barrel where the sun don't shine. But since I trust Chavez with my life, I listened to him. He put his big hands on the base of my neck. Slowly and gently, he applied pressure to the crick in it. A second later, it was gone. I closed my eyes as his hands kneaded my shoulders and loosened up my back. It felt wonderful; I couldn't help letting out a little moan of pleasure and relief.

At that exact moment, Arkansas Dave strolled into camp, hauling his trousers back into place. He stopped dead, his hazel-green eyes drifting over the pair of us. Finally, he found his voice. "What the hell are you doin'?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter; I'm fixing her back," Chavez replied coldly.

I sat up and rolled my shoulders back and forth. "Thank you so much," I said. "I can move now."

"I'm glad to help, _Querida,_" he replied with an almost flirty smirk.

Billy emerged from underneath his coat and yawned loudly. Hendry and Doc sat bolt upright and started to gather their things; that yawn was our hint to break camp. Billy started to mount his horse, but doubled over in midstep. Rubbing his shirtfront, he declared, "I think it's time to put somethin' in my belly 'sides whiskey."

"Couldn't hurt," Doc agreed, putting his hat on. "But, Billy, we're wanted men. We can't go door to door and ask people if they'll feed us."

"I know Jane would, but she can't cook worth a damn," said Dave. He gave us a nasty grin. "'Course, cookin' ain't exactly in her job description."

"That's enough of that kinda talk," said Hendry sternly. "There's womenfolk and children present, Rudabaugh."

"Tommy ain't a child no more. Are ya, Tommy?" asked Dave.

Tommy didn't answer. We saddled up and followed Billy's lead to a tiny little ranch house. A stout little fellow with dark, curly hair and an easy grin opened the door. I couldn't believe my eyes; it was Charley Bowdre. Charley was pleased as punch to see us and invited us in the house.

"Manuela can fix y'all somethin' to eat soon as she's finished tendin' to Marisol," said Charley.

"Marisol?" Doc was confused.

"My baby," Charley said with a proud smile on his face. "Hope ya don't mind that she's your namesake, 'Rena. I always thought Marisol was a purty name."

"Mind? I'm flattered," I said.

Charley's wife emerged from the bedroom with a tiny bundle of blankets in her arms. Charley slipped a loving arm around Manuela, gloating about how lovely the baby was and how lucky he was to have his wife and child. Doc looked away. I knew he was thinking of his own infant daughter, Hope, who was currently in New York. He'd told me how helpless and scared he'd felt as he sat at Yen's bedside, watching her struggle to deliver their child. For a minute, he'd thought Yen would die, along with the baby. He named the little girl Hope to remind himself never to give up.

Billy held up a mug of stone-cold coffee and toasted to the health of Charley, Manuela, and little Marisol. Manuela handed the baby to Charley and went to the kitchen to prepare a meal for us. I followed, thinking it was only right to help as a fellow woman. I tied on an apron and Maneula showed me how to grind tortillas.

"There is a special man in your life," she said to me suddenly. "You not say it, he not say it, but you both love each other."

"That's kind of the size of it," I replied.

"You should tell him you love him. Then you can make beautiful children together."

I laughed slightly. Not for the life of me could I picture myself as a mother. I knew Father wanted grandchildren, but the truth was, I was scared to death to give birth. So many women in our village died during childbirth that it put me off the idea of family. Of course, I could try to adopt a kid like Tommy who needed a good home, but somehow it wouldn't feel the same as a child of my own.

Manuela and I prepared nothing short of a feast for the evening. _Frijoles, posole, _green chile, _quesidillas, _rice, and I forget what else. Tommy got his appetite back and dug in like he hadn't seen food since the Lincoln administration. The rest of the boys were in great spirits, even Dave was bearable. We almost forgot we were on the run. We were just pals, dropping in to share supper with some other pals.

It was dark by the time we finished eating. We were all so tired and full it made no sense to ride away and set up camp somewhere. Instead, we all crowded around Charley's woodburning stove and slept on his kitchen floor.


	22. Chapter 22: Young Blood Spilled

"What day is it?" I yawned to Charley, getting up from his floor.

"March the seventh, I think," Charley replied.

It took a couple of minutes for me to remember the significance of that date. "It's pretty damn sad when you forget your own birthday." I muttered to myself.

Billy flashed me a big smile. "I didn't know today was your birthday, 'Rena. How old are you now?"

Again, it took me a minute to remember. "Twenty." I answered.

Billy rubbed his hands together. "Well, Charley, I reckon we should do something to celebrate the lady's birthday." He smiled devilishly at me. "Twenty shots of whiskey or twenty birthday kisses?"

"You can't be serious," I said.

"I am; you have to choose. Kisses or whiskey?"

I glanced at Tommy. "No more drinking," I said.

"Kisses it is, then," said Charley.

"Do I have to kiss Dave?" I wanted to know.

"Not if you don't want to," said Billy. He motioned to Tommy. "Come on out of that corner and give 'Rena a big 'Happy Birthday' kiss."

Tommy gulped audibly; his face turned bright pink. He approached me hesitantly. Billy nodded for him to keep going, so Tommy planted a very shy kiss on the back of my hand. Billy came to me next and stood an inch away so only he and I could hear the conversation.

"You ever kissed a man on the lips before?" he asked me. I shook my head embarrassedly. Billy raised an eyebrow. "Twenty years old and you've never kissed a man? Let's break that streak."

He leaned toward me, but I put my hand up. Billy was good-lookin' fella and all, but somethin' was holdin' me back. Chavez had said he was in love with me; my first kiss should be with him. Billy seemed to understand what I was thinking. He kissed my cheek and mussed up my hair.

"What are you doing?" said a deadly calm voice behind us. It was Chavez.

"It's 'Rena's birthday." Billy explained. "She's gotta have twenty birthday kisses before sundown, or she'll have seven years of bad luck."

"You get seven years of bad luck for breaking a mirror," Doc corrected him. "Not that I'm superstitious or anything."

Billy, Doc, Charley, and Tommy went out to prepare our horses, leaving Chavez and I alone in the kitchen. I tried my best not to act nervous. Chavez gave me a small smile, curling one of his long, callused fingers around my hair. I leaned in to kiss him. I barely came up to his chest, so Chavez had to bend down. Our lips met in a soft, slow kiss. An intensely happy feeling I'd never before experienced surged through me. The kiss deepened, but we soon had to pull away for breath.

"Wow," I said weakly.

Chavez kissed me again, this time on my forehead. "Happy birthday, _Querida_."

--------------------------

About midafternoon, we found a mine in the absolute middle of nowhere. Workers were loading donkey carts with heaps of something I couldn't quite identify, shouting orders to one another.

"You got any water?" Doc called desperately to the workers.

No one answered him. Most of the workers were decidely Mexican or Indian, so it was possible they hadn't understood a word Doc had said. We approached an old man with white hair and leathery, wrinkled skin. He was bent over a ledger, wrapped in a buffalo-skin coat.

"Hey, old-timer, when did this place boom up?" Billy asked him.

"Last week," said the old man, not looking up from his work.

"You minin' copper?"

The old man shook his head. "Nah. Guano." Off Hendry's confused look, the miner added, "Bat droppings."

"Bat droppings?" said Doc, looking revolted.

Dave smirked. "I've been to gold towns, copper towns, even been to turquoise towns, but I have never been to a bat-shit town. Can't wait to see the women."

The crack of a rifle rang out; the bullet embedded itself in the wooden structure above the old miner's head. A twenty-strong posse was pounding toward us.

"We gotta skin outta here!" Billy yelled. "Come on! Hurry!"

We galloped across the dusty plains, turning occasionally to fire over our shoulders. The posse would not be deterred. I began to grow worried as we neared a ravine; it was a sheer drop, maybe a hundred feet down. There was no other route through the canyon.

"We're gonna have to jump!" Chavez yelled to us.

"Did you say _jump_?!" I shouted back, unable to keep the fear out of my voice.

Chavez dug his heels into Sparks' sides, bellowing, _"Atsay! Atsay! Atsay!"_

Sparks threw her whole body into a leap, disappearing over the side of the ravine. The boys' horses followed. I could hear them screaming in terror all the way down. I hung back; I didn't want to jump. A bullet fired by a member of the posse whizzed past my ear, and I began to reconsider my position. I closed my eyes, urging Storm Cloud forward. I could feel air rushing past me as we descended, and I made the mistake of opening my eyes. I screamed more loudly than I've ever screamed in my life. The reins fell from my grasp at the same moment my right boot came out of the stirrup. I flipped into the air, crashing onto the unforgiving ground.

"Damn," I panted, my heart pounding painfully fast.

I tried to push myself up, but my head began to swim. I put a hand to the back of my head, then brought it around to my line of vision. To my relief, there was no blood on my palm. I was damn lucky not to have busted my head open on the rocks. Everything in my body hurt, but nothing seemed to be broken, so I pulled myself back onto Storm's back. Chavez barreled past me, Dave riding behind him, clutching very hard around Chavez's waist.

'_Why the hell did he do that_?' I wondered to myself. Everyone knew Chavez and Dave hated each other on principle.

"Sweet Mary's ass, how'd you get them to do that?" asked Dave excitedly. "What's that mean, anyway? _Atsay, atsay_?"

"It's an ancient Navajo word. It means 'stop.'" Chavez replied.

Dave found his own horse again and mounted it. We fell into a single-file line, following Billy's lead.

"Once we get to the top of this bluff," said Billy, "we'll have a clear view of the Nachita River. We'll sell the horses, then take a skiff downriver to Old Mexico."

Billy reined his horse in. Soon we were looking at the majesty of a bright orange sun setting over a snaking river. The sunlight bounced off the river, causing it to sparkle and shine. We all fell silent; this was one of the most beautiful things any of us had seen.

"Billy, is this Old Mexico?" Tommy breathed.

"No," Billy replied tensely. "It's Garrett. Get down, Tom!"

At that moment, the sun landed across eyes. I squeezed them closed; all I knew of what happened was a gunshot followed by a panicked whinny. A soft voice behind me whispered, "I got him."

I nudged Storm Cloud with my legs to make him walk. I eased him to a trot, a canter, and finally a gallop. I rode until past dark, when the smoke from a campfire led me to the boys. They were sitting around it, looking grim. I immediately noticed two missing people.

"Where's Billy?" I asked. All I got were shrugs. "Where's Tommy?" More shrugs.

"Damn it," I muttered, flopping onto the ground.

I lay on my back, watching the stars come out. The unthinkable had happened. Billy, our leader, foreman, and most importantly, our pal, was dead. I was sure gonna miss him.

Suddenly, I heard two sets of hooves approaching. I pushed myself onto my elbows to look. It was Billy, leading his palamino and the baldfaced mare Tommy had named Pistoleer. Billy's head was hanging and I noticed Pistoleer's saddle was empty.

"Where's Tommy?" I asked. Billy didn't answer. I went up to him and grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Billy, where the hell is Tommy?" I asked.

Billy's bottom lip trembled. I clapped a hand over my mouth, horrified at what I realized: Tom was dead. Billy dropped the horses' reins and ran to me. He began to sob into my vest. I never thought I'd live to see Billy the Kid cry. I held him to my chest, like he was some helpless, oversized child, until he ran out of tears.


	23. Chapter 23: Tom's Funeral, Demise of Doc

"_Hey yah hey, hey yah hey oh..._" Chavez stood with his eyes to the heavens, singing a Navajo funeral chant.

Doc knelt on the ground nearby, offering up some Christian prayers for Tommy's soul, all the while looking daggers at Billy. Billy, meanwhile, was sadly going through the few possessions in Tom's satchel. There were several newspapers, all of which contained articles about Billy and I, a five-cent book called _Billy the Kid: Prince of Pistoleers, _and a different five-cent book called _Rampaging Riddle: Queen of the Frontier_. Billy hefted a Mason jar of marbles from the depths of the satchel. He looked at it for a moment, then wound up and threw it against a rock as hard as he could. The sounds of glass breaking and Billy's roar of rage and grief seemed to echo forever.

"He was just a damn kid," Billy muttered, fighting to control his tears. "Just a damn kid. I was supposed to protect him, but I didn't. I let him down."

I tried to comfort him. "You _did_ try to protect him. I heard you yell for him to get down; he just wasn't quick enough. It's not your fault."

"Goddamn it, it _is _my fault," Billy snapped. "I shouldn't have let him join the gang in the first place. He was too damn young and careless."

I chose not to reply. I knew nothing I had to say could erase Billy's feelings of guilt and responsibility for Tommy's death. I passed Billy a dented old cracker tin, which contained a bit of cake I'd bought a few towns back. It was Billy's favorite kind, too: white cake with sweet frost.

"Nah, I ain't got no appetite today, 'Rena," Billy replied sadly, dropping the tin.

The winter air was beginning to make our faces sting, so we sought shelter in the shell of an abandoned house. I gathered some frozen twigs and got an anemic fire going. The boys and I huddled near the center of what had once been the main room. Billy sat opposite us. He had a hangdog expression on his face and was shivering heartily. It was a cold morning and Billy had only a thin sweater and small fire to keep him warm. And for the first time in anyone's memory, Billy was not wearing his gunbelt.

"I spent a lot of nights in this cabin after the Lincoln War," said Billy, looking around him. "I tried to put other outfits together, but they were never the same. When you all came back, I felt like there was nothing I wouldn't do to keep a gang together and keep riding."

"What are you saying, _Chivato?_" asked Chavez.

Billy answered him with another question. "Do you know what the Mexican Blackbird is?"

"A broken trail goes down to Old Mexico." said Hendry.

"It's a half-black, half-Mexican whore in Puerto de Luna."

"So...you mean you named the trail after her, right?" Doc wanted to know. Billy shook his head, not meeting Doc's eyes. "There is no trail, is there?"

"No," Billy mumbled.

"You son of a bitch!" Doc said with quiet fury. "You rode a fourteen-year-old boy straight into his grave, and the rest of us straight to hell." Doc stood, cocked his rifle, and pointed it at Billy's chest. Hands steady, voice shaking, Doc declared, "William H. Bonney, you are not a god."

Billy straightened up to his full height, locking his eyes with Doc's. "Why don't you pull that trigger and find out?"

Slowly, Doc lowered the weapon. "You're not worth it," he said. Starting for the door, he added, "I'm leaving. I'm going home."

Doc barely had got his feet out the door when gunfire erupted. I felt Chavez's arm knock me back against the stone wall. I was angry with him for pushing me, until I realized why he'd done it. Billy's number one rule of fighting was: When the shooting starts, get your back up against something solid and keep it there.

Billy and Chavez dragged Doc into the cabin. Blood was pouring from a neat hole in his chest. I knew in an instant he couldn't be saved. Billy grabbed for his guns, accidentally firing a round into the air because his hands were trembling from anger.

"PAT! YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Billy howled. "YOU KILLED A BOY! AND YOU KILLED DOC!"

"They're startin' to surround us. We gotta skin outta here." said Dave.

"Who's leaving first?" I asked.

"Hendry William French, you never killed nobody. The posse ain't gonna shoot at you." Dave called.

"Go to hell. They shot Tommy," Hendry snapped back.

"Somebody's gotta do it!" Dave reasoned.

Billy patted Dave on the back. "Dave, it's your gang. You lead us out."

"What?!" Dave cried, panicked. "This ain't my gang. It's your gang. It's always been yours."

Billy cocked his pistol. "Don't cross me, Dave," he warned.

"Billy," Doc choked. "Let me finish the game."

Billy nodded his consent. He knew Doc was about to die, and I guessed Billy didn't want him to suffer. Doc needed some help standing, then he burst out the doorway. Within seconds, he was facedown in the snow, felled by bullets from the posse. I felt sick to my stomach as I saw him. Of all the regulators, Doc had always been the one I'd liked the least, but I hadn't wished him dead. What were we going to tell Yen?

I'd never been one to panic during battle, but now I could hardly think clearly. There was so much confusion and gunfire it was all I could do to dodge the bullets. Billy was still in the house, but Chavez, Dave, and Hendry were nowhere to be found.

'_They all left me,' _I thought bitterly, recognizing the sound of far-off hoofbeats.

I crept to a corner of the house that was overgrown with waist-high brush. I concealed myself in it and managed to wound a few members of Garrett's posse. The able-bodied men surrounded the cabin, catching Billy by surprise. Billy had run out of ammo and couldn't fight back. He transformed almost instantly, from the famously brave outlaw Billy the Kid, to a man who looked as helpless as a newborn pup. He laid on his belly in the cabin, silently pleading for his life, his face the picture of defeat. There are some things a person just shouldn't have to see...


	24. Chapter 24: Captured

The posse hauled Billy to his feet and chained up his hands. A posse member with a thin black mustache slipped away from the group and walked toward the back corner of the house. He thought the brush would be a nice, private place to relieve himself...until he parted the weeds and saw me.

"Shit," he said, yanking his pants back into place. "Pat, we got us another one."

The mustached man grabbed my arm and dragged me out of my hiding place. A little red-haired man with glasses brought a small length of rope to the black-haired man. The man with glasses lashed my hands behind my back. The other man forced me to kneel on the ground, holding me from the shoulders so I couldn't get loose, even if I managed to untie myself. Sheriff Pat Garrett ambled over to me, an easy grin on his face. He reached up and untied the bandanna holding my hair back.

"Rampaging Riddle," Garrett said lightly. "I should have known The Kid's pretty young companion couldn't be far behind him." He jerked his head at the man who was holding me down. "Make sure you search her good, Poe. I hear tell the gal always has a blade on her somewhere."

Poe stepped around to the front of me and unbuckled the gunbelt around my waist, tossing it aside. He found Father's hunting knife strapped to my side and a small throwing dagger I'd hidden under my trouser leg. Garrett whistled softly; the redhead began scribbling furiously on a scrap of paper. I supposed he must be a reporter of some sort. Garret warned the man (Ash, he called him) to stop writing so quickly; he wanted no detail overlooked due to haste.

Poe lashed Golden Boy's saddlehorn to Storm Cloud's, then tied another length of rope to secure our horses to Garrett's. They boosted us onto our horses and allowed our hands to be cuffed in front so we could grip the saddlehorn to steady ourselves. As we rode away, I noticed a trail of large blood drops on the ground. The blood trail was pointed the direction that Chavez, Hendry, and Dave had ridden. I swallowed sickly. This trail meant that one of them was hurt pretty good. I offered a quick, silent prayer for the Great Spirit to help whoever had been shot survive.

-----------------------------------

After three straight days of riding, our party reached a little one-horse town. Billy and I spent the night in the same cramped cell in the local jail, then were shaken from our beds after only a few hours' sleep. Guards flanked us and marched us into the packed courthouse; it seemed everyone and their mother was eager to watch a judge seal the fates of Billy the Kid and Rampaging Riddle.

I was the first to be called to the stand. I had to swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. The judge read off my list of charges, which included some things I'd done and some things I didn't.

Most women would have told the judge they were pregnant in hopes of escaping the noose, or cried on the stand and begged to be set free. But I didn't do either of those things; I did what I'd sworn to do: tell the truth. When I stepped off the stand, it was Billy's turn. The judge (who resembled a fat toad) read off Billy's list of charges, which was almost as long as his lists of aliases. The judge got about halfway through the list before he had to declare a recess for lunch.

After everything was said and done, the trial took under five hours. This was mostly because we weren't being tried by a jury. After all, what jury would have convicted us? We were heroes to most people in the territory.

The judge handed down my sentence first: prison, then death by hanging. I winced involuntarily, even though I hadn't expected anything else.

Then the judge started on Billy: "It is therefore considered by the court here that said defendant William H. Bonney, alias Kid, alias Henry McCarty shall be confined in prison in Lincoln County. On a day to be set, the said defendant will be taken to a suitable and convenient place of execution within said county. There, he shall be hanged by the neck 'til he be dead, dead, dead!" He pointed his gavel at Billy. "Do you have anything to say for yourself, young man?"

"Yes, sir, I do." Billy cleared his throat and declared, "You can go to hell, hell, hell."

The courtroom erupted in shrieks of laughter; I even giggled inspite of myself. Judge Hop-Toad, of course, didn't find Billy the least bit amusing. He said that if Billy weren't about to be executed anyway, he'd be jailed for contempt. Then the deputies came to take Billy and I away again.


	25. Chapter 25: Jail, Bell and Bob, Escape

We were moved from the jail to the upstairs wing of the sheriff's office. Despite the fact Billy and I were the most famous outlaws in the territory, one guard watched us both full-time. This was on account of the town being too broke to pay extra deputies. The guard hired by the town was a scraggly fellow named Bell, and he wasn't precisely intimidating. This was mostly because Bell wasn't a whole lot bigger than Billy or me, and he was a little slow in the head. Bell would sit for hours while Billy told him wild, exaggerated tales about his life, and overall, Bell was a pretty decent guy. The same can't be said for his boss.

The sheriff of this particular town was a real nasty piece of work named Bob Ollinger. Ollinger would sit at his desk and do his best to look important, in between making crude remarks about our families. He also seemed to have an interest in seeing Billy and I suffer as much as possible before we were hanged. Our story picks up again on the day Ollinger sent his deputies to fetch him a roast chicken for lunch, sat about an inch from where Billy and I were chained, and then ate the whole thing by himself.

"Christ, a full belly feels good," Ollinger said with a nasty giggle. That bastard had made sure Billy and I hardly got even a single bite to eat over the past few days. Being hungry was nothing new to either of us, but the fact that Ollinger was starving us just because he enjoyed our suffering pissed us off.

Ollinger laid his rifle across his lap and began to polish it lovingly. "Just you try anything." he said. "I got 18 dimes in each barrel. Ever seen what a dollar and eighty can do to a forty-dollar steer? Just imagine what'd happen to a pair of cheap little crooks like yourselves."

Billy responded to this by blowing a loud raspberry. Ollinger dropped his rifle on the floor and got in Billy's face, his tobacco-stained teeth bared. "Just taunt me again, boy. That's all I'm askin', just taunt me again."

Billy remained uncowed. "I wanna talk to Garrett," he said.

"You can't; he's in Mesilla." Bell explained. "Got an interview and a tintype with _The Independent_."

"Sure, he's a famous man now," Billy muttered darkly. Then he turned to Bell. "Did you send my letter to Governor Wallace or did you burn it?"

Bell shifted uneasily. It looked to me like he had done the latter, but his words belied his face. "It was sent, Kid," said Bell. (He never called Billy by his first name; it was always "Kid").

"Why didn't he write back, then?" asked Billy.

Bell shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe the governor ain't one for correspondence." (The mere fact he knew what "correspondence" meant blew my mind). "My sister up in Colorado's like that. If you want me to, I can--"

"Would you shut the hell up, Bell?" snapped Ollinger.

Bell closed his mouth, bit his lip, and looked down at the floor. He never took it well when someone was angry with him.

"You know, Bell," Ollinger said thoughtfully, running a dingy rag across the rifle stock. "The sheriff never said we couldn't have a little fun with that squaw filly 'fore she swings from them gallows."

The slur seemed to echo in my ears, making my blood boil. I stared at Ollinger through narrowed eyes, daring him to take a step closer. Ollinger ignored my challenge and came up behind me, dragging his fingers across my body. I gagged; he smelled like he hadn't bathed in at least three years. Ollinger sidled to my front and tried to unbutton my shirt; I stomped his foot with one leg and kicked him between the legs with the other. Ollinger screeched like seven devils and somehow managed to backhand me. I fell back, dizzy from the blow.

"You'll pay for this," Billy snarled at Ollinger. "Nobody hurts a pal of mine and gets away with it."

Ollinger was unconcerned. He shuffled to Bell and said he was going to visit the saloon to chase his lunch with some whiskey. He warned Bell not to let anybody in the office or to unchain us for even a moment. After Ollinger left, Billy clumsily pulled a silver dollar from his pocket. He held it up to Bell's face.

"Here's a little trick to prove the hand is quicker than your mind," said Billy. He closed one fist over the dollar and mimed shooting a pistol at it. When he opened his hand up again, the coin was gone. Bell watched in amazement as Billy leaned over to pull the dollar from behind my ear.

Bell swiveled away from Billy's sleight-of-hand tricks as he heard the door creak open. Framed in the doorway, dressed to the nines, was Billy's friend Jane.

"May I visit Billy Bonney?" Jane asked. "I'm an old acquaintance of his."

"Ma'am, I'm afraid Sheriff Garrett won't allow any visitations." said Bell.

"May I at least leave a gift for him?" Jane pressed, holding up a lacy handkerchief that was tied into a neat bundle.

Bell took it from her. Jane started to leave, winking at Billy as she crossed the threshold. Bell handed the bundle to Billy, who opened it as privately as he could. I never got a good look at what was in it, but about a minute later, Billy asked Bell to take him downstairs to the outhouse. Bell glanced my way, worried about leaving me to my own devices. I graced him with the most angelic smile I could muster. Somewhat reassured, Bell left with Billy in tow.

They were gone for about five minutes before I heard the clump of boots on the staircase and the rattling of Billy's chains. Then Billy started to plead with Bell about something. I can't be sure what because his voice was muffled by the closed door, but I distinctly heard a pistol shot and Billy mutter, "That was stupid, Bell."

The door opened. Billy had an easy grin on his face as he strolled in, carrying a ring of keys in his blood-soaked hands. He dropped the keys on the desk and went for the rifle Ollinger had carelessly left in the office. Billy smashed the window with the butt of the rifle and shouted, "Hello, Bob!" He fired, then shouted, "Good-bye, Bob! Best dollar-eighty I ever spent."

Billy walked over the desk to retrieve the keys. He fumbled with the keys for a bit before the chains unlocked and fell away. Billy cursed under his breath, rubbing his wrists, which were raw and bruised from the chains. I held out my arms and was released in seconds. Billy sprinted out the door. I followed him, doing my best to keep up, my legs stiff from being confined. We crashed down the steps, jumping the last seven or so because that's where Bell's body lay. I took a quick peek at the message Billy had daubed on the wall in Bell's blood: "Garrett's Place."

I hadn't a clue what that meant, but this was hardly the time to ask questions. Outside, townspeople were beginning to realize their sheriff had been gunned down. I leapt onto Storm's back and he began to gallop almost before I'd gotten situated. We pounded past the now-late Ollinger.

"Quit nappin' on the job, Bob!" Billy yelled with his trademark laugh.


	26. Chapter 26: Medical Emergency

A/N: This chapter is a Halloween treat to all my loyal fans. Have a very spooky (and happy) Halloween!

* * *

Billy and I rode to the town of Old Fort Sumner, which was where Billy had told everyone to go wait for him if we got lost or separated. We tied our horses up in front of a saloon called Beever's Place. Billy said it was run by a friend of his, and we'd be safe there. Rather than go through the front door, Billy pulled me around back where the ashcans were kept. I had no idea why he was doing this, except the fact that he'd always had a flair for the dramatic. We pushed open the creaky back door and found ourselves inside a storeroom. A curtain ahead led into a private parlor.

I peeked through it. Hendry was sitting at a table, eating a meal prepared by Beever's numerous Mexican wives. Chavez was sitting against a wall, breathing heavily and glistening with sweat. It wasn't terribly warm, so I wondered what was the matter with him. Of course, Dave was nowhere to be found; I had a feeling we'd seen the last of him. He'd probably run down south to Old Mexico.

Billy stepped in front of me and opened the curtain. "_Buenos tardes, amigos_," he said.

"You're not dead," Hendry said dumbly.

"Do I look dead?" chuckled Billy. "You boys shoulda seen the short work I made of Bob Ollinger. I spread him out like Tularosa." He laughed for a second, then helped himself to a little food from Hendry's plate. "Listen good, everybody, 'cause this our master plan," Billy said through his mouthful, "There's a herd of slow elk resting at Greschelowski's sheep camp. We're gonna cut 'em, then ride for Canada. Chavez, make sure the horses get watered. Hendry, you--"

"I'll be staying here," Chavez interrupted.

"If you stay here, Garrett'll take you." Billy warned.

"Garrett already took me."

I literally felt my heart stop at these words. It just couldn't be...that would be too much on top of everything else that had happened so far.

Billy's face took on a concerned expression. He lowered himself into a chair, resting his crossed arms on the back of it. "When?" he wanted to know.

"When he took Doc."

I pressed in for a closer look as Billy gently brushed aside Chavez's coat. Chavez had wrapped his scarf around his stomach, which was oozing a steady trickle of blood. Chavez gazed at Billy with sad eyes, resigned to his fate. Billy stomped toward the table, and in one angry motion, turned it over; Hendry's supper plate fell to the floor and broke. Billy ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He turned back to Chavez.

"It ain't supposed to be you sittin' there like that," said Billy, tears forming in his eyes. "It's supposed to be me."

"There's gotta be somethin' you can do for him," Hendry said to me.

I crouched down to get a closer look at the wound. There was no exit wound, so the bullet was still somewhere inside him. It was obviously infected and Chavez had lost a fairly large amount of blood. With gut shots, it was always hard to say if the victim would live, but Chavez was my best friend in the world; I _had _to try to save him.

Billy shook his head sadly and went outside, choking back sobs. I swiveled toward Hendry, barking at him to help me. We used our coats to make a semi-comfortable bed for Chavez to lay on. I felt his forehead; it was practically on fire. I whipped my bandanna off and soaked it in my canteen, then used the wet cloth to bathe his forehead. I had to bring down his fever before I could even consider removing the bullet.

"I need some whiskey!" I yelled at Hendry once Chavez's skin felt cooler.

Hendry produced a bottle from inside his saddlebags, which were hanging on his chair. I undressed Chavez's wound and poured the whiskey over it. He winced and shut his eyes, but he didn't cry out. I examined the wound for a third time. The bullet wasn't in very deep, so I wouldn't have to use my knife to dig for it; I could just apply some pressure around the wound edges and pull it out. I opened up his shirt, astonished by the amount of dried blood on his body, and amazed he hadn't already bled to death.

"Hold him down," I ordered Hendry.

Hendry found a piece of broken table leg and slid it between Chavez's teeth, a technique my father often used to control the pain of village women who were giving birth. I put my fingers around the wound and pinched. It was difficult to keep a grip on it because the bullethole rose and fell with Chavez's rapid breathing.

"Listen to me," I said to him in as soothing a voice as I could. "I have to get this bullet out, but I need you to something for me so I can. Take a deep breath and hold it in." I knew he wouldn't be able to do that with the table leg in his mouth, so I asked Hendry to remove it.

I waited until Chavez took his deep breath before I started pinching again. The process began to take longer than I thought it would, so I began to say soft words of encouragement. "Okay. We're almost there. Just keep holding it. Here we go..."

The bullet slipped into my fingers just as Chavez found he couldn't hold his breath any longer. He fell into a coughing fit as I quickly covered the injury, which was bleeding afresh, with Hendry's scarf.

"Could you go ask Beever for a bowl of broth?" I asked.

While Hendry was in the bar, I dug through Father's medicine pouch to find what I needed: the mysterious powder Father often used to make injured warriors well again. The stuff had a real bitter taste to it, so I would have to trick Chavez to get it in him. Hendry returned with a steaming bowl into which I sprinkled the powder. I felt oddly maternal as I fed the broth to my patient.

"What about Garrett?" Chavez asked weakly after he finished the final spoonful. "He's going to find us."

"Let me worry about that part for now," I said. "We have to hide here until you're strong enough to move. If we don't, you could die."

Chavez nodded slowly in understanding before he drifted into a peaceful sleep.


	27. Chapter 27: Where's Billy?

I yawned heartily as I awoke the next morning, every inch of me cold and stiff from sleeping on the tavern floor. I immediately glanced toward Chavez. He was breathing much easier now, eyes still closed. I gave silent thanks to the Great Spirit for giving him such strength. I started for the main room of Beever's Place to get some breakfast for myself. I wanted to wake Chavez so we could share the meal, but I thought it best to let him sleep.

As I entered the bar, I expected to see Billy perched on a bar stool, chatting with Beever, and perhaps using the bottles of alcohol for target practice. But I didn't see him. I took Billy's usual spot at the bar. Billy's pal Beever, a scruffy, snaggletoothed character, ambled over to me.

"Doin' all right this mornin', Riddle?" Beever asked. "How's your breed friend?"

I let the insult slide. "Made it through the night. I guess he's gonna be okay."

Beever leaned across the bar slightly, looking curiously at me. "What the hell kinda hocus-pocus you carryin' in that satchel? By rights, that breed oughta be dead." I glared at him. "Sorry," Beever apologized. "Forgot you was a half-breed yourself."

With an effort, I restrained my temper. I hated the term "breed" almost as much as I hated what L.G. Murphy and his boys had stood for. Beever, finally getting it through his head that I felt insulted, asked very politely if I wanted anything.

"Coffee," I replied. "And some bacon, if you got it."

Beever barked something in Spanish at the nearest of his wives, who immediately disappeared into a small side room. Beever handed me a mug of something that smelled vaguely like coffee, but looked like mud from the bottom of Pecos River. After a short stretch of time, Beever set down a plate containing several pieces of a bacon and a slice of blackened toast. I put some of the bacon in my mouth. It tasted like saddle leather, but I was too hungry to care.

"Say, Beever," I said once my plate was clean. "You haven't seen Billy around, have you?"

Beever shrugged. "Ain't seen Kid since last night. Tossed a few back, then he left."

"Know where he went?"

Beever snorted. "I ain't his daddy. Try askin' Paulita Maxwell or one o' the other gals 'round here."

That fit. Billy had given Chavez up for dead yesterday. When Billy was upset about something, he usually sought comfort in the arms (and often the bed) of some woman.

I headed out to the streets of Old Fort Sumner to look, eager to tell Billy that Chavez was going to make it. The sun was high in the sky, so the whole town was out and about. Men were talking with each other, kids were throwing sticks for some mangy coydogs, and women were out in their yards grinding corn. I approached the first woman who caught my attention. I asked her if she'd seen El Chivato recently.

"He was dancing with Paulita Maxwell at the fiesta last night," the woman replied in perfect English. "Then he disappeared with Consuela Francisca." The woman pointed down the street, at a small dwelling near the town icehouse. "Consuela lives there."

"Thank you, ma'am." I said.

I walked to the house the woman had pointed out. Consuela invited me inside, and I found myself in her bedroom. (I hadn't meant to end up there, but the house really was that small).

"You are _Furioso Criba_," said Consuela. She seemed less sure of her English, but there was a purr in her voice that men no doubt found appealing. "You looking for _Billito_." She gestured to the tiny bed. "We make love last night. My first time. He was so--"

"Spare me the details," I said quickly. "What happened after that?"

"_Billito _act very strange. I think maybe his belly is empty. I send him to icehouse for beef. _Billito _not come back."

I nodded along with Consuela's account. My eyes landed on the wooden chair beside the bed. A holster lay across the back of it, holding a pair of gleaming Colt Peacemakers. I knew in my gut something was wrong; Billy never went anywhere without his guns. I followed a set of bare footprints out to the icehouse and entered it.

"Anybody in here?" I asked in a hoarse whisper.

I looked down at the dirt a few feet away from the door. There was a dark stain on it. Blood. I picked up some of the dirt and brought it to my nose. It didn't smell like beef blood, or chicken blood, or even animal blood at all. This could mean only one thing: this blood was human. I sifted the dirt through my fingers, looking around for more of it, but there was no blood trail. No drag marks either, not even another set of footprints.

"What the hell?" I wondered aloud.

It was like Billy had just melted off the face of the earth.


	28. Chapter 28: Visions, Rescue

I went inside the town's livery stables, walking down the aisle until I found Storm Cloud's stall. He nickered happily, bobbing his head up and down when he saw me. He eagerly sniffed my clothes to see if I had come bearing treats, and seemed disappointed when he realized I hadn't. Storm was still saddled, so I entered the stall and tightened the girth around his belly. He flattened his ears and jerked away from me.

"Sorry, boy," I murmured, stroking his forehead.

I removed his rope bridle from a hook in the wall and guided it over his nose. Using his empty feed bucket as a step, I swung myself into the saddle. Storm turned his head toward me, looking betrayed.

"I know you're tired, boy," I said. "But we have to find Billy."

I hated to leave Chavez alone, weak as he was, but I felt I had to leave. Billy was my pal. If he'd been shot and crawled off somewhere to die, I didn't want him to be alone. I knew he'd do the same for me or Chavez. The problem was, with no blood trail to follow, I didn't know where to start looking. Now more than ever, I would have to rely on the gut instinct Father had told me to follow since I was a little girl.

I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind. I sat absolutely still for an indeterminate amount of time, letting the sun warm my face and the breeze ruffle my hair. A vision slowly came to me: Billy lying in the desert, bleeding, a gang of vultures surrounding him. There were tall cliffs on three sides of him, brush at the base of the cliffs. The Spirit Horse stood patiently in the distance...

I jerked abruptly out of my trance, feeling unsettled but pleased. Never in my life had I had such a vivid vision. Certain of what I was doing, I guided Storm to the east. Several miles of desert later, I reached a canyon with only one way in or out. There was a long stretch of paths, surrounded by cliffs exactly like those in my vision. This had to be the place.

"Billy!" I started to holler. "Billy! Billy! It's Serena! Are you here?"

My only reply was the echo of my own voice. I pressed on, keeping my eyes sharp. There was a possibility Billy was unconscious or too weak to yell back. I shouted his name until my throat hurt, but I never saw him. I sighed slightly. Maybe I hadn't had a real vision after all. But it had felt so real...

Another sound echoed 'round the canyon, slight but still detectable: someone coughing. I followed the sound to a clump of brush. There, I found Billy. His face was sunburned and the dirt near him was stained red.

"'Rena," Billy said weakly. "If you're here, I must be in heaven."

"I'm no angel," I said with an amused grin.

"How'd you find me here?"

The better question was how the hell Billy had ended up in this canyon under his own power. It didn't take a genius to figure he was severely wounded.

"That cowardly bastard Pat Garrett shot me in the back," Billy moaned. "Goddamn it, it hurts, 'Rena."

After a brief struggle, I was able to stand Billy up and with considerable effort hoist him into the saddle. I picked up Storm's reins and led him out of the canyon. The trek to Old Fort Sumner took twice as long as it might have because I had to stop and make sure Billy wasn't falling off. What astounded me was that he was still breathing. It really proves the old saying: "It ain't the size of the dog in the fight; it's the size of the fight in the dog."

By the time we reached Beever's Place, it was almost too dark to see. Beever carried Billy into the bar to try and work on him. His Mexican wives began to sob hysterically when they saw how badly hurt he was. I returned to the private parlor to check on Chavez.

"He's awake now," Hendry reported, "and he says he's hungry."

"Supper may have to wait," I said. "Billy's been shot. Beever and his wives are lookin' after him."

"He gonna make it?" Hendry asked worriedly.

"He will." said Chavez. "He's the luckiest white-eye in New Mexico."

'Everybody runs out of luck at some point,' I thought.


	29. Chapter 29: At Death's Door

A while later, one of Beever's wives stepped out into the bar. She talked rapidly in Spanish, pointing repeatedly at me.

"Kid's askin' after you," said Beever through the cigar clamped between his teeth.

Beever's wife got behind me and shoved me through the curtain that separated the bar from the parlor. There Billy lay, on a bed fashioned from coats and an old sheet.

"Are you my guardian angel?" Billy asked me.

I didn't need the salty odor of sweat to tell me he was out of his mind from fever; I could see it in his eyes. I looked around for some water to cool him down with, but there was none in the parlor. Didn't those damn women know better?

"You must be an angel," Billy continued. "Ain't never seen a real woman pretty as you. Am I in heaven?"

"Not quite," I said.

"I'm thirsty. I need some whiskey."

I walked back through the curtain, went back behind the bar, and grabbed a glass. I went out to the well and filled it with water. Whiskey was the last thing Billy needed in his current state. He spilled a good portion of the water on himself when he grabbed the glass from me, but gave me a betrayed look as he realized it wasn't whiskey.

I checked Father's medicine pouch for some more of that mysterious healing powder. There was less than half a dose left, but I needed to try anyway. I gave in to Billy's demand for a small shot of whiskey, figuring that was the only way to make him take it. Billy didn't put too much faith in medicine, wouldn't even take laudanum for a toothache.

I quickly discovered mixing Father's powder with whiskey wasn't a smart thing to do. Billy stayed up half the night, moaning that his belly hurt and accusing me of poisoning him. In the morning, Beever's wives came to change his bandage and Billy threw up all over the smallest one. He still looked like he had one foot in the grave.

I escaped to the hallway. "Goddamn it," I muttered angrily to myself. "Goddamn it. I'm so fargin' stupid." If Billy died because I had mixed up his medicine with something I shouldn't have, I could never forgive myself.

A very tense three days followed. Billy kept drifting in and out of both consciousness and sanity, and his stomach continued to bother him. On the fourth morning, Billy's fever broke and his stomachache finally went away. I was enjoying a hot breakfast with Chavez when Beever's wife Juanita delivered the news. She added that Billy was looking for me again.

I was relieved that Billy was all right, but at the same time, I worried that he'd be angry with me. He might not realize I hadn't been trying to make him sick. I grasped Chavez's hand so he could come with me, hopefully to ease my anxiety. Juanita shook her head.

"Just you," she said to me. "_Chivato _was very e-specific."

In some trepidation, I entered the private parlor. Billy was sitting at the tiny table, deeply immersed in his own breakfast.

'Juanita must be a damn fast cook to get it to him this quick,' I thought.

Billy noticed my presence. Slowly, he finished what was in his mouth and wiped his face on his napkin. "'Lo, 'Rena," was all he said before returning his attention to his plate.

"I'm so sorry," I said suddenly, my voice wavering out of control. "I swear I didn't know. I wasn't trying to make you sick."

"I was sick?" Billy said, looking genuinely puzzled. "I don't remember bein' sick. All I know is my back's killin' me. Musta woke up on the wrong side of Consuela's bed." He giggled.

How much of that was true and how much he made up to ease my guilt, I'll never know. The most important thing was that good old Billy was back.


	30. Chapter 30: Inheritance and a Wedding

Several months would pass before Chavez gained enough strength to be completely independent again. During that time, he and I made a decision that would change both of our lives. We rode back to Warm Springs to visit my father. Chavez introduced himself and asked, "Will you give me permission to marry your daughter?"

Father stood silently in his thinking pose. Chavez was of Navajo and Mexican origin, not a full-blooded Apache, as was preferable to the tribal elders. It was also considered undesirable for an Indian of any tribe to marry someone who wasn't full-blooded. This fact had nearly earned my father himself exile.

"Do you love this man, Daughter?" Father asked me.

"With all my heart," I replied.

"Then I see no reason to stop you." Father took Chavez aside, and the pair of them began haggling over what my dowry would consist of. Father decided on several blankets, a barrel of grain, some firearms and ammuntion, and fifteen pounds of beef. It was expensive to be sure, but I knew Chavez would give Father anything to make me his bride.

Chavez went to the nearest town to fetch the supplies, while I dashed off an excited letter to Billy. I hoped he was still at Beever's because I didn't know how the hell else to get in touch with him. Billy never stayed in one place for too long.

When Chavez returned, weary but triumphant, Father grinned and embraced him. He announced to the rest of the tribe that his beloved daughter Dancing Fawn (my tribal name) was to wed. There was much excitement at this news. The tribe spent weeks preparing for the wedding, during which time I received a letter from Billy:

_Dear 'Rena, It's about time you and Chavez got hitched! I'm so happy for you I could bust. I wish I could come to the wedding, but I don't think I'll be able to make it. Anyhows, I'm writing to tell you that Susan McSween found a copy of John's will while she was cleaning up after the fire. John said you were the closest thing to a daughter he ever had, so he left his house and all its land to you. The property's gonna seem big at first, but I bet you two will fill it up with little ones in no time. Maybe someday when I'm not wanted anymore, I can come over for supper. I wish you guys the best of luck. Tell Chavez I'll buy him some whiskey to celebrate next time I see him._

_Your pal always, Billy_

I swore my eyes were playing tricks on me the first time I read it. John and I were close, but I never imagined he'd leave his whole ranch to me. He really was the kindest old man I ever knew.

On the first really fine day of spring, Father performed the ceremony that would bring Chavez and I together forever. The tribe cheered wildly for us at the conclusion of the ceremony, causing my heart to swell with happiness. The wedding day was rounded off with games of skill such as archery, a delicious banquet, and an evening of spirited dancing.

By the end of it, I was worn out from excitement. I badly wanted to retire to the teepee Chavez had built for us, but I was uneasy about what would happen once we were inside it. Despite Murphy's best efforts, I had left the saloon business with my virginity intact, and wasn't sure about parting with it.

"_Querida, _you're about to fall into the fire," said Chavez, gently placing his hands on my shoulders to steady me. "You need to rest."

I let him guide me toward the teepee. He opened the flap and lifted me up. Holding me, he crossed the threshold, depositing me on a blanket. Butterflies began to flap madly in my stomach as I watched him undress for bed. Chavez took me into his arms, resting a hand on my chest.

"_Querida, _your heart is going awfully fast," he said. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah," I said, sucking in a deep breath to calm myself. "I'll be fine. Just give me a few minutes."

"You're nervous," said Chavez. He toyed with a strand of my hair for a moment before he spoke again. "I don't want to make you do this if you're not ready. I want you to be comfortable with it. There's no pressure; I'm ready whenever you are."

I felt his breathing change as he fell into a light sleep. I lay awake beside him, trying every trick I knew to calm myself down. Once I no longer felt like I was going to be sick, I tapped his shoulder.

"Your heart slowed down," Chavez observed. "Are you ready, _Querida_?"

"Yes," I declared.

"I won't hurt you," Chavez promised me.

The two of us quickly became one. Words can never describe the feelings I had, except to say I became a woman that night. Of all the things I'd done and couldn't undo, losing my virginity to Chavez was the one I could best live with.


	31. Chapter 31: A Big Secret

During the days that followed the consummation of my marriage, the village women crowded around me and told me all the signs to look for, the signs that would mean I was carrying a child. I took note in my head of all the symptoms and waited. As the weeks went by, I didn't become nauseous in the mornings (quite the opposite, I was ravenous); my belly remained stubbornly flat. Chavez and I later packed up to move back to John Tunstall's ranch, the place we had called home for so long.

I was quite surprised at the house's appearance when we rode up. I had been expected to see it looking delapidated, but someone had obviously been taking care of it.

'_But who?' _I wondered as Chavez lifted me into his arms and carried me up the porch.

My eyes fell upon a set of initials carved into the white-washed adobe wall: W.H.B.

"William H. Bonney," Chavez and I said together, laughing.

We unpacked the few belongings we had and brought them into what had once been exclusively my bedroom. Now we would be sharing it.

Chavez and I spent many nights in that bed, trying to start a family, but it was in vain. I never developed any symptoms of pregnancy. I began to worry that something was terribly wrong with me. Lincoln didn't have a practicing doctor at the time, so I would have to ride two towns away to visit one. Chavez always worried very much about my health, even if it was only a slight head cold, so I told Chavez I was going to visit my father. No need to alarm him.

Before going into the office, I put on a dress and pinned up my hair to avoid the possibility of being recognized. The doctor was a kindly-looking old fellow named Robbins. He closed the door to his office and instructed me to sit on the table. I needed a leg up, but managed to do so.

"What's the matter with you, m'dear?" he asked.

It was embarrassing to have to tell this to a man, but his demeanor put me at ease. "My husband and I are trying to have children," I explained. "We've been trying for quite some time and I haven't gotten pregnant yet. I was just wondering what might be wrong."

Doc Robbins nodded and began to check me over: my temperature, my pulse, my heartbeat. Then he asked me to lie down and he gently prodded my stomach with his hands. He expressed some concern about being able to feel my ribs, inquiring if my husband and I were poor and unable to afford food.

"Well, we're not exactly rich, but we always manage," I said.

"Have you always been this thin?" Doc Robbins wanted to know.

I nodded. Doc Robbins sighed. "It's nearly impossible for a woman your size to bear children, at least children that will survive. I'm sorry, but there is no cure for it."

I thanked Doc Robbins, then rode out to Warm Springs to see Father. It never hurt to get a second opinion. Father examined me and sadly agreed with the white doctor's findings. He warned me not to tell Chavez about it; a woman being unable to have children was grounds for divorce in our culture. I knew Chavez would never leave me because of that, but I still agreed not to speak of it.

Over the next few days, the weight of the secret began almost as heavy a burden as if I actually had a child in my womb. I spent increasing amounts of time in the study with John's old books, speaking to Chavez only if necessary. It didn't take him long to figure out something was bothering me.

One night, while I was staring at the pages of _King Arthur _(not really reading, just trying to occupy myself), I heard a knock on the wall. Chavez was leaning against the doorjamb. His clothes were dusty, his shirt unbuttoned halfway, and his chest shiny with sweat.

"Reading again?" he asked me.

"Yes," I answered evasively, not looking up.

"Is supper ready?"

I slapped myself in the forehead. I _knew _I'd forgotten something! "No, and I apologize," I said. "I'm just a bit tired today and it somehow slipped my mind." I started to put down my book. "I can start on it now and we might be able to eat before midnight."

"Don't trouble yourself if you're tired," said Chavez. "I'll just have an apple or a leftover biscuit. _Querida, _are you all right?"

"I haven't been feeling well," I lied.

"Do you need to go to bed?" Chavez inquired.

My lip trembled at the word "bed." I closed my eyes and let out a breath. "It's not easy for me to tell you this, so please listen." I said, following him into the kitchen.

"I'm listening," Chavez replied, popping a cold biscuit in his mouth.

"I went to a doctor, then I went to see my father." I said. "They both said...I can't have children. Father didn't want me to tell you because he was afraid you'd leave me."

"You know I wouldn't do that," he said, pulling me close. "I know it's not your fault."


	32. Chapter 32: Coming Out of a Funk

I hadn't been sure how I'd handle pregnancy, childbirth, and ultimately motherhood, so I should have been relieved at the news. But I wasn't; I was devastated by it and became depressed. I left the running of the ranch and store to Chavez and secreted myself in the house. That was a mistake. Every bad thing that had happened over the past two years came to mind constantly. I barely slept because I was alternately tormented by nightmares of my worst memories and wistful, happy dreams about holding a newborn baby in my arms. These dreams were so vivid I'd wake up in a cold sweat and break down in tears. At this point, I seriously thought I was losing my sanity.

My feelings of shame started to interfere with my marriage. I sometimes had problems sleeping in the same bed with my husband; lovemaking was out of the question. I was fortunate that I'd married Chavez, because he was very patient with me, respected my feelings, and would always lend an ear.

After a while, I realized no good could come of my sulking and hiding. There was nothing I could do about my problem, so I should continue with my life. It wasn't fair to make Chavez do all the work. Besides, I'd probably have fewer nightmares if I was tired out from a long day on the cattle drive.

The afternoon of this epiphany, I marched out to the barn. I spent some quality time with Storm Cloud, grooming and stroking him. I put on his bridle, jumped on his bare back, and left the barn at full gallop. My senses reawakened so suddenly, so intensely that it was like being reborn. I felt incredibly alive as the wind whipped my hair off my face. My leg muscles tingled with the effort of remaining tight so I wouldn't lose my grip on Storm's sides; the pure, fierce strength of his four legs pounding beneath me was intoxicating.

Storm's breathing grew labored, so I pulled back on the reins to stop him. I laid against his back, letting my legs relax again. I closed my eyes and let the sun warm my face, listening to the peaceful sound of Storm Cloud chomping on grass as he grazed. I waited for him to finish before sitting back up. When we got back to the barn, the sun was low in the sky and Chavez was bedding Sparks Flying down for the night.

I grinned as I dismounted, still exhilirated from my ride.

"I'm glad to see you're not upset, _Querida,_" said Chavez, planting a soft kiss on my lips. "You were worrying me."

I pulled back slightly from the kiss when I felt something bump up against my leg. I looked down and realized Chavez had several dead rattlesnakes tucked into his belt.

"You brought supper back with ya," I observed. "Chavez, you do know how to turn a girl's head."

He slipped an arm around my waist. "Come on. Let's go back to the house and get these guys ready."

Neither of us were terribly hungry that night, so we cleaned about three of the snakes and saved the remaining four for another occasion. Once my appetite was satisified, I gathered up my knife collection and headed to the backyard. I tossed the knives at a fencepost until my shoulders ached and I lost my good throwing dagger in the bushes.

Chavez was still in the kitchen, looking out the window. He looked sleepy, but I knew he wouldn't have gone to bed unless he saw me come inside. Exhausted but happy once more, we snuggled under our quilt together.


	33. Chapter 33: The Return of The Kid

A/N: I don't own the lyrics in the chapter. Well, sports fans, this shall be the final chapter of my fic. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. See you next time!

* * *

"Are you ready to go?" Chavez asked after breakfast the next morning. "We have a lot of work to do today."

"I know, and I'll get to it when I can get to it," I promised. "Would you get Storm ready for me, please?"

"Anything for my _querida,_" said Chavez, kissing my cheek before he left.

I filled our kitchen sink with water from the well and grabbed a cake of soap from the cabinet. I pushed up my sleeves and got to work on the breakfast dishes. I was in a good mood, so I broke into a song from my days as Rampaging Riddle, one I hadn't sung in years.

"_...This is the end of my story  
This is the end of my song  
Frankie is down at the jailhouse  
And she cries the whole night long  
He was her man, but he done her wrong..."_

The song got completely stuck in my head, so I kept singing it long after the dishes were clean. I strolled into the backyard with my old hip-swaying gait, ready to look for my knife. I knew roughly which direction it had gone, so I had an idea of where to start. I got on my knees and groped around in the brush. After a few minutes, my hand found the familiar steel handle. I sheathed my knife, stood, and headed for the barn.

A sound in the distance made me stop in my tracks. The footfalls of a horse. I knew it couldn't be Sparks or Storm and we had no neighbors to speak of. Who the hell could it be? Instinctively, my hand flew to the pearl-handled six-shooter in my belt. I stood my ground, ready to give this stranger a proper greeting. Suddenly, a shot rang out. I jumped; the bullet landed harmlessly by my feet. I fired back, quickly emptying my revolver as I dodged the stranger's bullets. Cursing, I reached for my belt to reload.

"All this time, and you're still the best dancer in New Mexico," cackled a male voice.

I squinted through the sunlight blocking my vision. The stranger turned his horse so I could see him better.

"Goddamn it, Billy!" I howled angrily, holstering my gun with a flick of the wrist. "I coulda killed ya, you crazy son-of-a-bitch!"

"Nah, you missed me by a mile, 'Rena," said Billy. "Your aim's gettin' rusty."

I let his comment slide. Folding my arms, I asked, "What the hell are you doing out here anyway?"

Billy put a hurt little boy look on his face. "Can't a fella drop in on his pals anymore?"

"I hope dropping in is all you're doing," I said. I figured he was on the run again and needed a place to hide.

"My days of hidin' out and runnin' away are over," Billy declared. "Remember the coward who shot me in the back?"

"Yeah, Pat Garrett," I replied.

"Well, the dumb bastard thinks he killed me, so everybody's stopped lookin' for me." Billy snickered, tickled to death on having bested Garrett. Chavez sure was right about him; he _was _the luckiest white-eye in New Mexico.

"Would you care to come inside?" I asked Billy. Now that he was here, I felt obligated to entertain him.

"Only if you got somethin' to eat. I'm starvin'," he answered.

I led him inside and got him settled at the table. I scrounged up some cold leftover bacon and eggs, plus a biscuit with jam. Billy didn't say a word until he'd finished every bite. I cleared the table and watched Billy's gaze travel to the stack of paper on my desk.

"You writin' a book or somethin'?" he wondered.

I nodded. I'd spent most of my time during my depression writing out my life story. I entertained the notion of getting it published, but I wasn't sure if it was good enough.

"Mind if I read it?" said Billy.

"Feel free," I said. "Let me know how you like it."

Billy walked to the desk, picked up the first page in the stack, and sat at the table with his feet up. He cleared his throat and began to read aloud: "_My name is Serena Marisol Riddle, and this is my story. I was born on March 7th, 1859, the daughter of a white teenaged settler and an Apache medicine man. My mother was ashamed of her relationship with my father, so she abandoned me within hours of my birth, leaving my father to raise me by himself..."_

_**The End**_


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